Song of Solomon
by Cansei de Ser Sexy
Summary: This is the song: One for sorrow two for joy, three for Byronic four for Shrew, five for being not seeming, six for to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield, seven for a secret eight for a wish, and hold your breath and count down from infinity. Sequel to Every Contact Leaves Its Trace.
1. The Shapes of Things to Come

_Hullo! _

_Here the sequel to 'Every Contact Leaves Its Trace.' I wish I could say you don't need to read the first book to understand this, but I'd be lying if I did._

_Song of Solomon, song of songs; I'll be quoting this sacred piece of poetry a lot, even Bruce will quote it in the story-yup, during sex- s__peaking of which, please note that the story is rated M, for sexual content, and everything is fair in my game._

_Just a side information so you won't be confused, the origin of red herring, according to Wikipedia, is for training hounds, to mix the scents with those fish so they could learn to differ the scents. Mr. Walden and Mr. Crews are inspired by Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere's book, because I love quoting a lot, as you already know :)_

_As always, edited by wondrous Moonstruck Kitten, and a big thanks to Progenitus for killing the first summaries and titles without mercy!_

_(The references in the summary moved to my profile, and I'll do taglines there too later.)_

**Prologue: The Shape of Things to Come**

* * *

_**Four weeks ago**_

Two distinctive silhouettes walked down the alley where the squeaky dealer Richard the-not-quite-so-brave lived. Mr. Crews had hired Richard the-not-quite-so-brave in the Danken's Place. When Mr. Crews had first seen the old dealer, the man was participating in a drunken brawl that no one remembered the reason for. Mr. Walden had said no, but Mr. Crews had insisted. He'd always found his sort the most interesting. Mr. Crews glanced at his companion, then said slowly, "Think of him as a Jack of all trades with a red herring."

Mr. Walden thought that for a second before he answered with the same thoughtfulness, weighting his words, "Training hounds?"

"I doubt it." Mr. Crews tapped his long forefinger on his lips slowly to emphasis the level of his doubt then continued. "No, my fine friend, I was thinking figuratively—more along the lines of the mystery novel author's tricks of the trade." Mr. Walden nodded, comprehension dawning slowly. Yes, a fish. But being huge—almost as big as Mr. Walden himself—and extremely grubby, Richard the-not-quite-so-brave, who had asked no questions and said very little —although he hadn't neglected to make a point of telling both of them that he liked to ruin things— Richard-the-not-so-gallant-either had no other resemblance to a fish.

Mr. Crews almost thought it was a pity that they needed to ruin the man too.

A rustle in the darkened alley had Mr. Walden's knife in his hands then it was no longer, instead it quivered gently almost thirty feet away. Throwing a side glance to Mr. Walden, Mr. Crews walked over to the knife and picked it up by the hilt. There was a gray rat impaled on the blade, its mouth opening and closing helplessly as its life fled away.

"Now, that's one rat that won't be telling any more tales," said Mr. Crews half chuckling. Mr. Walden didn't respond to his joke. "Rat. Tales. Get it?" Mr. Walden didn't look like he had, but then again he never did. "Mr. Walden, do you hear it talking?"

Mr. Walden flicked his gaze toward him. "I hear no voice, Mr. Crews." He crushed the small creature's skull between his enormous fingers. "The dead cannot speak."

Mr. Crews patted his companion's back affectionately then pulled the ruined rat from the blade and threw it away. "No, my fine friend, they do, all the time, only to those who know how to listen. But, now, let us move on. You know how upset Mistress gets when she's waiting."

* * *

_**Four weeks later…**_

Her fingers fastened around the door handle, Valerie momentarily paused. Dropping her hand, she tapped lightly then frowned … This was ridiculous—she was being ridiculous... but… Giving out a sigh, she tapped once again. No sound came from the other side. She shook her head, started drumming her fingers on the wooden surface rhythmically, and called—"Are we going to set up a bell too, darling?"

"Come in, Valerie," Bruce responded finally, and despite the distance and the heavy wooden door that separated them his sigh was audible.

She slid the door open and smiled at him brightly. "Perhaps a canary…? Then you'll be woken up by merry chirping every morning." She walked into the bedroom, dropped herself on the armchair opposite the bed. "So…how are we feeling today? Nervous? Got the jitters? Or is it butterflies?"

"I'm quite fine, thank you."

Well, he didn't exactly look like quite-fine, and with the slight stubble shadowing the strong lines of his jaw he didn't exactly look like ever-sharply-dressed Bruce Wayne either, but he definitely looked better. Good, she nodded to herself and smiled wider. "It's your big returning day, Bruce, the filth of Gotham must have missed your charming company." She leaned forward on her seat. "I've come to make a proposal before you start going out regularly again."

He arched his eyebrow. "Hmm."

"I want you to stay in the house every Sunday."

"Valerie," he started, and his tone was rising for a discussionbut she didn't let him continue. "If God himself could take a day off after his work, there is no reason at all for us not to follow his example."

His eyes fixed on her, Bruce remained silent for a while. She smiled even further. "Proposal indicates a notion of bargain," he remarked causally. "If I accede now, what I will get in return?"

She couldn't help it. Her eyes widened big, and she gave him a scandalous look then burst into soft giggles. "Bruce, seriously, you hang around me a lot I think. All right then," she drawled, "What do you propose?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "The drink you mentioned several times for my voice. Can you fix it for me every night?"

"Done," she agreed.

"And three Sundays for every month," he bargained.

She shook her head. "My terms aren't negotiable." She paused as her gaze flickered towards the long glass on the bed stand. "But if you accede now I might be willing to prepare your vitamin fix every morning too."

He didn't think further then. "Deal."

* * *

The sky was promising a good summer day, the very last of them, but Derrick Malkin wasn't particularly aware of it nor would he have particularly cared even if he was. Derrick Malkin wasn't someone to worry about the things he couldn't change.

The things he could change though…ah, well, they would see…

Life was good, it could be better but Derrick knew the same thing was applicable to almost everything in life, everything you had could be better, yet he also knew that a man who set his eyes on the upper ladder had to be patient. And more importantly he had to be benevolent and protective of his charges because the poet was right, no man was an island, and everyone needed someone.

Thus, in the middle of the corruption, filth, and lies that was their lives, there was one simplistic truth that everyone agreed upon. Derrick Malkin could be tough at times, but at his core, he was a good fellow.

* * *

"So that's your plan?" Valerie asked as she stood up from her seat in the study, eyes widened accordingly to the wonderment in her voice. "You know since you were avoiding telling me about it I was expecting something a little more—you know, the usual _batshit_ crazy stuff."

Bruce arched one eyebrow and countered dryly. "Attempting to break a psychopath out of Arkham for questioning then returning him isn't batshit crazy enough for you?"

"Well, when you say it like that." She shrugged. "When do you plan to go in?"

"I'm still preparing. First I need to find out more about Richard Tomah. Two weeks, probably. I let myself get too sidetracked by that—killer."

Valerie forced herself not to grimace at the mention of that man. "We're regularly checking the reports. There's no mention of any further poisoning."

"The shipment must have been a trial. Perhaps they're planning the real one now."

She nodded then looked straight at his eyes. "Bruce, talk to the Commissioner." His face got closed off. Valerie huffed out. "Bruce Wayne, you're being childish. You need him, and he did what he thought was right. You know it."

"He lied to me."

"And now you're being a hypocrite. You asked him to lie to everyone for you too." she shot back, "which is by the way an incredibly dumb thing to do that we will have to talk about." She halted to take a breath, her gaze never wavering from him. "How long do you plan to continue this farce?"

"As long as Gotham needs me to."

Frustrated, she shook her head. "That's the single stupidest—"

Now it'd come to that, and Bruce wasn't really surprised, no, not exactly. It was only a matter of time, an inevitability that she would come to this point. She was changing, they were changing, their status, as static as it could be, was still changing in its kinetic state but some things had to remain the same. He gave her an edgy look, and shoved his hands inside the pocket of his pants. "Valerie, don't. It's not open to discussion, drop it."

She pointed a finger at him. "I'm only dropping this for now, and that's just because we have more urgent matters to discuss. But it'll open up to discussion, Bruce, it certainly _will_."

"Valerie—"He raised his voice but she cut him off with a curt hand motion, and started to pace in the study. "Not now," she repeated, "Urgent matters… I've had it in my mind since you got yourself shot but…things happened…" She stopped pacing, turned aside, her face set in seriousness. "It's time we settle that now."

His pulse started to accelerate a bit. "What are you talking about?"

"Basics," she frowned. "Bruce, did those terrorists ever teach you anything, I sometimes wonder." Before he could retort, she asked, "Do you have any emergency plan in case your identity gets blown?"

Bruce looked at her blankly, his eyes fastened on a lock of hair falling over her face. She tossed it away shaking her head and threw her hands in the air. "I just knew it. You're so… frustrating." She closed on in him. "Bruce, you need to prepare a plan, stashes around the city, alibis, and means to get yourself out of the country if it comes to the worst." The bang fell over again. "You _can't_ just let yourself be captured."

His hand brushed the hair behind her neck, "I don't plan to."

She drew in a breath, then nodded, "Good, because if so, I'll personally break—"

"I know," he cut her off smiling faintly. A slow smile appeared on her lips too while she muttered another 'good', as his gaze fell down on the necklace adorning her neck. He looked closer, brushing his fingertips over the stone…ruby… "One of my gifts, I presume?"

Her smile grew wider. "Yeah, like it?"

"Ruby looks good on you," he whispered, "We should get you its earrings too."

Her lips parted as her smile widened even more then…she scowled. "Stop distracting me with shiny things—"She pulled back, poking his chest with her forefinger. "We're not done yet. I want to come with you to Arkham."

Bruce's scowl came back in full force as his eyes sharpened. "No."

"Nonsense—"

"I'm going alone."

"—I can infiltrate as Doctor Lena Collins. We can twist a story—"

He grabbed her upper arms. "Valerie, I'll say it in a very simplistic way so you can understand it with a perfect clarity." He leaned forward. "_It's out of the question_."

* * *

"All right," she said finishing the last touches of grease paint under his eyes. She set the brush on the workbench, and smiled up at his cowl covered face. "Bandaged, painted, and armored nicely; you're good to go smash some sense into the filth of Gotham once again." She took a step back, "_Be careful_."

"I will," he promised looking at her with his particular unflinching Batman look. His shoulders hunched, the air warped into shadows around him, the dark matte surface of the armor absorbing the light, and regardless of the tension she bit her bottom lip and thought about how to bring up the subject again. She needed to persuade him… He couldn't leave her behind…he _hadn't_. It was so…unfair. He had said 'come with me.'

Her jaw setting decisively, she readied herself for the second round but before she could start talking he said, "Tomorrow we're going out. Have you prepared everything?"

She blinked twice as a slow smile appeared on her lips, the thoughts and worries of the day fading away rapidly. Their celebration night, she thought as the small smile blossomed out fully. _Finally._ "I most certainly did."

"Good," he said then.

"Alfred and I even prepared proper clothes for you."

"Proper?"

She shrugged, "Jeans and t-shirts…"

Eyes looked at her, his scowl visible even under the mask. "I have jeans and t-shirts."

"Nothing fancy… you know like the ones you wear when you go undercover."

"Am I going undercover?"

"We wouldn't want the exclusive Bruce Wayne to be sighted in a second rate Irish pub, now would we? What would people think?"

"I see," he responded and smiled back, faintly but gently, still an unusual sight to see on his armored features. He reached out toward the work bench next to them, took the mix she had prepared earlier and drank it in one swig. His face soured only for a second, then he turned to leave.

"Come back soon, darling—"She called after him, he halted in his steps. "I'll be waiting."

She watched his shoulders lift up and down slightly as he shook his head and resumed walking, his cape floating behind him. She turned back and settled at her station in front of the screens, eyes flicking towards Alfred who watched her closely once again. She didn't say anything and instead picked up the sandwich Bruce had brought her earlier and started to eat it thoughtfully. By the time she finished with the delicious snack and started with the strawberry frozen yogurt his distinctive rasp came to her ear through the wireless.

"I'm closing in on the first informant," Bruce informed her and asked, "Situation?"

Her hands holding the yogurt cup, she checked the dots. "All clear."

Two minutes later, she heard the familiar the sounds of fighting and breaking bones and gathered that Bruce had made it to his reluctant contact. "Richard Tomah," he rasped out only two words.

"What—about—him?" the man whimpered out.

"Everything," Batman answered. "I want everything."

"Dead," the informant sputtered out meekly and sometimes—mostly in her most lenient days—an occurrence that had started to occur a tad bit more as of late, Valerie couldn't help but feel pity for those unlucky souls that Batman decided to make pals with. "A couple of weeks ago…Found dead in a bathtub, throat slid open. Police say suicide."

"But you don't believe?"

"He was—the opposite. He liked—to kill things, not himself."

"Who'd he work for?"

"Whoever pays the most," the man went on in a calmer tone. "But he used to hang with Malkin—the new guy." They both well recognized who Derrick Malkin was, much like everyone else in the Narrows these days. The informant continued, "He used to do racketeering—while the Irish and the Russians were eating each other, he was picking up leftovers…and after you put the Irish behind bars—well, he saw the opportunity."

There was a moment of silence then another familiar wuthering sound followed, a second later Bruce rasped out, "Valerie, pull everything we have on Derrick Malkin as top priority."

"I'm on it."

* * *

When Georgina had first seen Derrick, she had been twenty years old. She had been a simple dancer in an equally simple hole-in-the-wall, and it had been almost five years from the first lap dance she had given to him.

He was handsome with an easy smile even at that time, but the most incredible thing about him had been that he was motionless, sitting like a block of wood, watching her as she did the most deprived things just an inch above his crotch.

That was unusual, something Georgina wasn't accustomed to. The customers had to squirm—had to enter into an uncomfortable zone, you had to watch the struggle on their faces while they argued in their minds as their hands fisted beside their hips. No touching—it was the first commandment of the lap dance, written not in stone but all over the walls. But where was the fun if your clientele looked like he didn't want to touch anyway?

It'd turned into a game fast. The more he looked unaffected, the more daring she got. For a full month, he came every night, and each night ordered a drink, tipped generously and sat motionless, as Georgina raised her game gradually. Soon she even started brush her skin over him while dancing—just for a split second—a tickle of skin over the cloth and watched his face and saw him still looking at her with a faint smile.

Then one day when he came, she was already with a client, and he sat next lounge beside theirs, and watched them with unwavering attention as Georgina fixed her gaze on him, and saw the anger in those dark depths of almost coal black eyes. It rose more and more each time she came dangerously closer to touching the crotch under her ass. Georgina felt she was burning.

The man was already close to groping her—and with the corner of her eyes—still fixed on him—he saw the man's hand approaching over her thigh then before he could reach his destination—before she could react and call for Bobby, _He_ came—just appeared out of the thin air, touched her wrist, threw her aside and swung a fist at the man's face.

Georgina watched the scene with widened eyes as her client rolled down on the floor together with his chair and by the time Bobby came with two of his men, the man was a bloodied bundle of whimpering meat on the ground. Later she heard he had had to stay in the hospital for a month.

Then he turned to her, looked at her eyes, and clutched her hand in his palm, hard skin, calloused but sturdy. He nodded at her and she couldn't do anything but nod back. That night she stayed in his place—like the rest of the nights following that night.

He paid all of her debts to the owner and when she asked what he wanted in return, he simply said, "Just stay" with an acute voice and earnest expression on his face. He never asked for another lap dance, and she didn't offer one either.

Despite her other shortcomings, Georgina had always known about herself. She knew she wasn't—was never going to be—one of those women who took care of themselves no matter what. She needed to be taken care of, she needed to be protected—to be fed—to be fawned over. She was addicted to the safety. None could say life with Derrick was safe, but life without with him wasn't safer. And underneath of all of this false safety, there was just another thing—another glint—cracking up every now and then—a flash of menace—a stroke of violence—the most possessive—and it was still burning her just as much as that night when a man had dared to touch her.

Sometimes she told herself it was love, sometimes she told herself it was not—but most of the time, she just told herself she was much better with him than she would have been without him. Because everyone knew: even though he could get tough at times, at his core Derrick Malkin was a good fellow.

* * *

_A/N: Goodness, my notes are never-ending. Derrick Malkin is first mentioned in the Contact's Chapter Three, by those two vendors closed the first book, saying those words for Batman. Yes, I have plans for Mr. Malkin :)_

_'The dead cannot speak', a quote from Sodom and Gomorrah, which is a reference, of course, to Talia and her 'quest'._

_Next, finally, the 'date' to 'celebrate'._

_Later._


	2. Lilith Returns to Eden

_A/N: Okay, I'm posting Chapter One too, because originally I'd planned to post it together with Prologue but it was too long. But, since I already spent all the edited material in my hands, the update schedule is going to have to be more coordinated this time. In other words, you're gonna have to wait until Moonstruck finished her job, like me :)_

_Now, let's find Locus Amoenus.  
_

**Chapter One: Lilith Returns to Eden**

* * *

_My beloved spoke, and said unto me: 'Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone._

_Song of Songs_

_x_

She looked different; Bruce noticed it first thing, descending the staircase. Her hip rested along the Hyundai Cabrio's door, as she waited, her left arm circled under her breasts, the other propped it up, her eyes inspecting her bright green colored nails, the bracelet he'd gifted her—personally—on her wrist. He smiled at its presence.

She wore a simple dress, not one of those that barely covering hips, but an everyday summer dress, with a hem cut above the knees, not quite modest but not inappropriate either, minimum make-up, her feet adorned in dark blue wedge heels sandals instead of sharp six-inches. She dropped her arms to her sides when she noticed him, and then threw them up. "Finally," she exclaimed, "I was giving up hope from you."

Before he could answer with a heated _never_ she leaped on him, and dragged him toward the car. "Come on, let's go before all the beer's gone." Then she waited as he unlocked the door, and again she looked close to normal, not some unstable, dangerous vixen who had stamped her print on this world, and ran over it, not someone who had seen what he had seen but for a minute, for one long moment, she really looked ordinary, the girl next door, then she got in the car and propped her feet on the dashboard.

He shook his head, smiling, and went to the driver's side.

Bernie's. Not Bernie's Bar, or even Bernie's Hangout, just Bernie's, as if the one word said everything, and it was no wonder that it was Valerie's choice.

Bernie's was darker on the inside than on the outside, lit with neon signs from beer companies, and half-a-dozen men glanced at them before turning away as if they didn't rate notice, because they didn't recognize a plainly dressed Bruce Wayne with one day beard and cap, simple shirt and jeans, had walked into their fine establishment. And plaid and baggy jeans and faded t-shirts with logos seemed to be the fashion statement here, and, while no one in sight was smoking, the place still smelled of fifty years of tobacco.

Beside him, Valerie closed her eyes, pulling in a deep breath, and let out a big smile. "Brilliant, isn't it? A place where you can be anything."

Frowning, he glanced at her, then his gaze flicked towards the mirror behind the bar, and funny enough, the reflections there didn't seem to stand out. Why was this easier? Was it really easier to fit in with a bunch of other misfits who didn't know how to make a home for themselves?

Before he could find an answer to his own rhetorical question, Valerie dragged him to the bar. He ordered two beers, one Guinness for her, one Corona for him before she could ask for anything. She shrugged, and settled with her back to the bar and her elbows perched on the edge while her eyes traveled the room. He could see the calculations there, and when he saw a man staring back he caught Valerie winking at the guy.

He rolled his eyes. She threw him a sideway glance. Putting the cash down on the bar for the beers, he noticed the dart board, and put more money down. The barmen slapped six darts on the bar, and Valerie smiled, picked the darts up and poked one plastic tip against her fingertip. She then picked up her bottle, had a big sip, and hopped down.

She ushered him towards the board and they played three times, and every time he beat her. Annoyed, she returned to the bar then her attention was caught by the jukebox. She wriggled her fingers at him, got his change, and then a familiar Irish tune played as she walked towards him, smiling, her annoyance forgotten. Hopping up back on her stool, a dramatic sigh poured from her lips. "I'll just have to find other people to wipe the board with."

He made a noncommittal noise out of his nose. She turned an eye to him, then leaned forward, and demanded, "Tell me something interesting."

He took a small sip from his beer, "Define interesting."

"Tell me the most stupid thing you've done."

"Really?"

She paused a little then made a face. "Okay, tell me the second most stupid thing you've done."

Where to begin? He'd done so many stupid things. "I gave my Armani coat to a homeless before I—"He stopped, the word 'disappeared' hanging on his tongue as he gave her a little shake of head. He took off his cap then pointed at her with the bottom of his bottle. "Your turn."

"At fifteen, I smashed all the lights in the hall of the Nunnery because they didn't turn on when I passed by. I thought they were doing it _on purpose_."

He laughed, shaking his head, she laughed with him. "Well, I was an adolescent." She defended herself then paused a little. "Maybe I was a little too harsh on Cathleen. I mean, can you imagine _me_ as a teenager?"

A horrified look appeared on Bruce's face, as he mumbled, "No, god, no."

She laughed loudly, brought the bottle towards her lips then turned to the barmen. Four beers and two smokes later, three for her—one for him, both smokes for her (she hadn't taken her pill tonight because tonight was their celebration night and they had earned it, they earned this parade even just for one night)—he watched her, a smile on his lips while she made the pub her own in five minutes flat.

She learned the bartender-owner wasn't Bernie, but had bought the pub from the previous owner and was putting himself through college. She also won arm-wrestling matches with three of the guys at the bar, dragged two of the others into dancing with her, and managed to talk the stuffed-up guy in the corner into feeding a steady stream of quarters into the jukebox to keep the music going when his change ran out, which was according to her just pathetic–-_countless billions and can't even keep a jukebox going for a few minutes._

As Bruce watched her working her charms over the men, suddenly he felt that closeness he felt from Alfred, of family, because even though he couldn't possibly understand blood ties anymore, he could certainly understand the ties caused and grown by shared experience and tragedies.

Her eyes caught on the two men beside the dart board, and smiling predatorily she hopped down. "Found the pretty asses," she announced, and he noticed the same faint Irish accent, barely a hint underneath her rich tones, but it was there; impossible to ignore, even more impossible to deny. Suddenly he remembered Felicia, the red lipped she-devil, impossible to contain, even more impossible to handle.

Somehow she looked closer to her now, different yet familiar, the harsh angles of her face turned softer, the cat-smug smirks turned a little, just a little bit gentler, and that brash, uncontainable exterior turned into something extremely loud but incredibly closer. Then she threw the dart, hit the bulls eye, turned her head to spot him at the bar, and gave him a small half smile.

"Ha ha, did you see it, properly wiped out!" She waved her hands to each side posing and then dropped herself on her stool, her Guinness in her hand, her lips curled up with delight. Bruce suddenly thought of domesticated wild cats because Valerie, his Valerie, his dearest attention freak former thief and con-artist looked at that exact moment like a well-fed cat, sleek and content, well cared for.

The wildness, recklessness, feral fierceness that had radiated out of every pore that he had seen from Felicia was still there, humming underneath her skin and flashing behind her smiles but now was tampered down, hampered by him, by what he was offering, and by no one else but him. Something curled deep in his stomach, his hands ached to reach out and take her in his embrace, and his body begged to have her under him…then she pulled her stool closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Bruce—"she said, voice close to a purr, sleek and content, and happy. "We really should do this more often."

Blood singing in his ears, he took a sip from his beer to slow down his pulse, "Do what?"

"Hanging out together…watch movies…have a drink, have fun, you know, doing normal stuff."

His gaze skipped towards her then he knew that this was it; the time had come. He put the bottle down. "I thought normal doesn't work for you."

Her eyes found his. "It doesn't mean we can't pretend for a while."

He held her stare. "That's why you left him, the man in Wales? Cause you couldn't pretend any longer?"

She pulled back from his shoulder, her eyes widened and perplexed. He shook his head. "Valerie, don't look like that. You're practically begging me to confront you on this matter. Leaving me all the bread crumbs to pick up—and I dutifully gathered them: At some point in your life you decided to try something…different, possibly after Cathleen died, you left your father, and found him. He was a _normal_ guy, and you lived with him. Then he came, your father. He talked to you, told you things, and you ran away, ended up with him again for that diamond dealer's job. Then he left you behind." Her chin trembled but he didn't stop, pressed further. Tonight the status quo would tip somewhere more promising, he was more than determined. He had had enough. "The rest you already told me. After the operation, when you needed something—familiar, you went to find him." He paused, his voice now soft despite his plain words. "What did you do in Wales, what happened to that seashell?"

She ran her eyes away, shook her head. He gently touched her chin and turned her head to him. "Tell me."

"I found him in a pub in Wales and slept with him in the restroom." He kept his gaze on her, his heart aching. "I crushed the seashell later, flushed it down the toilet." She pushed his hand away, standing up. "Happy now?"

She jogged toward the back door. Bruce sprinted after her as she walked out into a dead end alley. "Valerie, stop," he called after her. "Stop, don't run away. I don't want to play games with you anymore."

She turned on her heels. "Games…we do nothing but, Bruce. That shy quirky little smile you put on your lips every time you want me to do something only works because I let it." She walked closer, and poked him in the chest. "Don't think though I'm not aware of it. You're the most devious man I've ever known." She shoved him off at the chest. "You found one, one sole chink in my armor to exploit and you exploited it." She mimicked her voice in his tone. "'_I trusted you, Valerie, oh, I believed in you, we trade secrets, you can't leave me behind.'_" A shove pushed him back again. "You are manipulative."

"And you aren't?" Bruce took her arms, pressed them against her sides and advanced on her. She took a step back. "You're the worst kind. You manipulate with the truth so yes, I manipulate you back. I have to. _Nothing else, no one else could get a hold on you._ Valerie, you don't have anywhere left to run anymore. Accept it."

"Accept what?"

"You love me," he said slowly, each word deliberate.

"I do _not_," she protested looking at him with wide eyes.

Bruce dropped his head, letting his hands off her. "Okay, we do it the hard way, of course," he muttered then lifted his head. "Okay, dear, reason with yourself. Try to categorize the feelings you're experiencing, and crosscheck them with what you sensed those men felt when they fell over your feet. You might have some pretty data on your hands to recognize the symptoms at least."

"I can't be in love," she protested but a trace of suspicion had already entered her voice. "It doesn't even _exist_. I mean—I—" She let out a sigh, pausing but Bruce waited for her to speak again. "People…we say we love things; a car, a shoe, a dress. And they say all you need is love, then a few years later it ends up in an ugly divorce, or…worse, much worse."

He drew in a breath, and gripped her shoulders. "Forget the words; forget the labels. What do you feel for me? Why does it hurt you when I get hurt? What did you feel when you thought I was going to leave you?"

Her lips trembled. "I—" She bit her lips. "This…whatever it is—"She started again, shaking her head. "You left your mark deep, Bruce. I didn't notice how it came this far. First, I was desperate, then I was intrigued, then…a little bit comforted, I guess. I let it grow by intrigue then neglect, and when I realized how deep it ran, it was too late."

He looked at her, reached for her cheek. "And you can tell me this, but can't you tell me you love me?" he asked, smiling, his hand caressing her skin.

"I can," she answered. "I can tell anything, anything at all, and…you'd believe but I don't want to. We're past that. Desire, lust, _needs_; those I can understand—I want you, I need you…I need you to be a better person. You make me want to be better…but love...? A lot of people wanted me to love them back, Bruce, lots of people, but in the end I think the thing they wanted wasn't the feeling itself, but that knowledge, the certainty that I loved them back."

He dropped his hand, got closer to her till their chests touched each other. "All of us have insecurities, we all are needy. I'm not an exception either. I need that knowledge too. I don't care what you call it. You say you're not in love with me, fine. But still you don't want to lie to me, you can't leave me, you can't even stand the notion of me leaving you. And some things can be learnt. You weren't even thinking you could have a friend before but you have one now."

"Oh…" she said, sighing deeply, her brows pulled into a scowl. "We turn back to friends again."

He looked at her, his eyes darkened, and took another step forward. "Valerie, we are certainly not turning back to friends again."

She sniffed, pursing her lips. "Th—oh-_Oh!_" She quirked an eyebrow, catching up with him, the exasperation already turned itself into a predatory smile; arms flew up to circle his neck, and she tilted her head before asking, "You mean you'll drop your stupid machinations and finally have sex with me?"

He looked at her seriously, yet eyes gleaming. "Yes, Valerie, I'll _finally_ have sex with you."

"Bruce, you idiot," she said affectionately as spurring him around, and pushed his back against the wall. "Why didn't you say so before…You waste time here with chitchatting about feelings."

Her lips on his neck, Bruce protested. "This stuff is important. And stop it—we're not yet done talking."

She didn't. In fact she took her assault further. "Yes, I am. I'm done with talking, I'm done with waiting. We're _so_ in love with each other we might drink colors, and puke puppies and flowers. Let's get to the good parts."

_Well done_, Bruce congratulated himself dryly. _Well done to break her reserves, a fantastic job_. But the good parts seemed to be really good as she snuggled up against his body further, lips sucking his skin, fast hands already on his buckle. He had to steel himself before taking her hands in his grip and pushed her half an inch back. "Okay, okay—"he rasped out, catching his breath. "Slow down."

She leaned on him again, and rubbed her body against his crotch. "Up, it seems."

"Home," Bruce breathed out roughly, "We're going home."

She rubbed herself again and Bruce closed his eyes, trying to hold on his reserve. "Here is fine."

"Home—" he muttered again, opening his eyes. "We're not having our first against a filthy wall."

"Bruce," she purred against his skin, smiling. "Don't talk like that; you'll hurt wall's _feelings._"

He steeled himself further, and dammit! Burned coals listened to his will, sharp glass obeyed his command, he needed to take her home, to his bed, needed to show her how it was done, not a quicky against a pub's wall... He shoved her again a few inches back. "Keep this up," he warned, "and you might end up finishing yourself off again thinking of me."

She gave him a nasty look but submitted. "Fine," she bit out. "Home it is." She spun on her heel and walked toward the car. He followed her, grinning. She turned back to shoot another glare, and sniffed. "Seriously, Bruce, you're so manipulative." She didn't wait for him to open the doors this time, and hopped into the driver's seat. "If Machiavelli had been alive, he would have had to name you as his new Prince."

"I'm already been dubbed a _Prince._" He gave her a smirk, then waved his hand. "Budge over—"

"I can drive."

He slowly bent toward her, bracing his hands on the edge of the door. "And I can drive faster. Do you want to waste any more time?"

She drew in a breath, gave him another look but slid herself into the passenger seat. "See, my point exactly." She stopped in the middle, placing herself on the empty place between two seats, and laid her legs over the passenger seat.

He hopped into on the driver seat and started the car. Her arm circled his waist instantly as the other wrapped itself around his neck, and his grip on the wheel tightened as he took the car out of park. "So devious," she murmured.

He gave her a sheepish grin. "No one else could have handled you."

She rolled her eyes. "Down with that ego, mister." Yet she rubbed her nose against his skin, breathing deeply, and let out a satisfied purr. He thought once again of cats, sleek and content, well cared for. And he was going to take a good care of her; a really good care… she would see in moments… Her hand started to wander downward, her lips smiling against his skin as his body tensed, and the hardness of his crotch got to a point that it started hurting. "Valerie… Not a good idea."

She huffed, voice muffled against his skin. "Bruce, I pegged you as a multitasking guy, don't disappoint me."

His gaze skipped from the road for a second, then he grabbed her neck. He pulled her up to meet his face, and kissed her, hard, then nipped her bottom lip. "I _won't_ disappoint you, trust me," he rasped out.

Hiding her face at the angle of his shoulder and neck, she snuggled even further, one leg sliding between his, practically sitting on one side of his lap, then she whispered into his ear, "I trust no one but you."

He closed his eyes for a second as his heart started pounding fast, so fast that he thought it was going to tear itself apart. He pulled her closer, and turned the wheel the opposite direction. She steadied herself, clutching his waist as the momentum threw them to the left, and lifted her head up. "Bruce, this isn't the right direction."

"Yes," he rasped out. "We're going to penthouse."

Valerie smiled her smile. "Genius."

Hyundai Cabrio was the best car had ever known to mankind, Bruce thought two and half minutes later, and yes, he had counted. They got out of the same side, Valerie pressing behind him, her hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, her head resting on his shoulder. He walked fast, and she dragged herself behind. The bellboy looked at their tangled bodies with a cool expression, as if it were a common experience that could be seen frequently, and it took too damn long to reach his floor. They walked out of the elevator, into the hall, still attached to each other. He pressed his finger to the lock as Valerie huffed at his skin, laughing over that spot just under his ear, and finally, finally, it was home sweet home.

It wasn't really home, but Bruce couldn't make himself care at the moment. It'd at least once been his bed.

He let go of the door, and it slapped close. His arm reached behind to twirl her around, and there she was, in front of him, looking more stunning than ever. He reached for her, bowed his head, she raised hers up, raised slightly on her toes, and they kissed, kissed, kissed then he thought bed, bed, bed, caught her under her ass, and lifted her up. Smart girl, she was, Bruce always knew. She gathered his intention, wrapped her legs around his waist, and bent her head as he lifted his, lips not breaking their contact. He carried her to the master bedroom, his almost healed wound protesting the sudden actions and weight, but he ignored the pain.

Inside he carried her toward the bed. She lowered her head further down, breaking the contact, his lips burning, she mumbled, voice breathless, "No…no...Up against the window, I want it against the view."

He closed his eyes. Bed, they had to be on the bed but his mind was assaulted with images of Valerie pressed against the window, whimpers, and moans, clutching him…behind, Gotham glinting. He took quick steps toward the window, and pressed her back against its length. She turned her head aside to watch the view. "You fantasized about it?" he asked roguish, nibbling her ear.

She trembled, her fingers fisting into the hair at the back of his neck. "All the time—" Then she turned her gaze back to him and a very suggestive smile appeared on her lips. "Not with you though."

He dropped her just a little bit down. "What?"

"Thomas…he was talking about his stupid view all the time…" She drew in a sharp breath as he bit her on the shoulder. "_Ouch._"

"Not nice…" he growled and she laughed. "I guess I just have to make you forget about that fantasy."

"I have a very long memory."

"Of course you have," he said, lifting her up once again to unbuckle his pants, "only when it suits you."

Using each foot, she took the sandals off of her feet, and poked him with her bare heels. "Enough with chit chat, darling, now, why don't you impress me?"

He thought once again slow and bed, then freed himself from his underwear, and pulled her down while one hand crawled between her legs to pull the tiny lacework panties aside. He pushed then pulled her back roughly against him, and slid in with one single—and not particularly gentle—motion.

She yelped then groaned as her muscles clutched around him, her depths already pulsing. "Does this _impress_ you?" he rasped out, holding her tightly, his face distorted with concentration to keep himself at bay as pain in his side heightened pleasure simultaneously, and she was so slick, so warm, so tight, so good… He rasped another breath out.

She was breathing out of her nose too, eyes half closed as she started to mutter, "Hardly—" He pulled his hip back a little and thrust again fully, her head dropped back as her words trailed off at the back of her throat, turning into a rough groan and his name. "Bruce…"

God, it had been so long since he had done this, and even longer since he had done it on his feet, but the rush seemed familiar, frantic and so close, and Valerie, his Valerie, his well-cared, well-fed kitten in his grip, her arms circled tightly around his neck for strength, her long legs intertwined around his waist, her heels digging into his ass as he bounced her in his embrace.

He slammed into her, again, again, and again, always faster and faster, pain mixing with hot liquid pleasure, and he gradually reflected the pleasure on her with each roughened thrust. And with each, her grip around him tightened like clamps, she groaned loudly, close to screams, thick and throaty, calling his name, always his name, and behind her was Gotham, his beloved Gotham; dark and beautiful, and full of dangers, much like the woman he held tight between his arms, and that moment Valerie tasted dirty and dangerous, of ash and alcohol, and sweet with the savor of sin. Space around them twisted with his name on her lips—and only his name, Bruce over again, again, and again—growing smaller and smaller, until it seemed that the entire universe was only a teardrop of reality, a bubble just large enough to fit their bodies… in which even time slowed to a halt, and she clutched him, her back arching on the glass, and for just one moment, one glorious moment that felt like eons, they stayed motionless, frozen, screams falling silent on each other's lips, then the whole universe burst open like an explosion.

They dropped to the floor, lay beside each other, breathing hard, then she leaped on him, taking his face between her hands, and kissed him, and he kissed her back, catching his breath, frantic and desperate but full of intent, trying to convey every single damn thing he had thought—had felt since she had dropped into his life into the kiss.

She pulled back suddenly, broke the intimate kiss, and Gotham's lights danced in her eyes as she smiled, sour and bitten lips pulling up with delight. She snuggled into his chest, slid one leg over his, and tangled up their sweaty, still semi clothed bodies. He broke the silence, needing to clarify one very important point. "This is not a one-time-thing."

She laughed against his chest; husky, luscious, and dirty. "That would be disappointing."

"That means you're my girlfriend now, for real."

"Hmm," she said, licking his neck.

"And that means there will be no quickies with other people."

She laughed again. "That, Bruce, is entirely up to you. You keep up with that nice performance up there and we'll be good."

He scoffed dryly, "Will try my best."

She patted him on the chest. "You have my complete confidence."

He ignored her, and continued with possibly the worst pillow talk ever. "When you feel overwhelmed, or mad, or anything, you'll come to me. You won't go and take drugs and have sex with strangers in restrooms. We'll talk about our issues like normal human beings. If you refuse to be reasonable, I will stop you by any means necessary."

She raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Really?"

"Valerie!"

She laughed. "Bruce, really, you shouldn't tell me such interesting things."

"Valerie, I'm trying to have a talk with you here. I'd really appreciate if you'd be more serious about it."

She rose on her elbow, and looked at him. "Bruce, I won't have sex with anyone. In fact, since my return to Gotham, I haven't slept with anyone."

"You slept with Selina before my very eyes!"

Her expression froze for a moment then she smiled. "Well, she doesn't count," she said, "It was—"she paused for a second. "—a common point, you slept with her too. Now, don't frown, you'll really get wrinkles." She touched the said frown on his crease with her fingertips. "Stop worrying, there will be only you," she said then, her eyes sparkling. "I promise."

Bruce nodded. "Good. I'll hold you on that."

"You do that." She braced her hands on the floor, pulled herself up closer to his side, and pushed her hair back. "And since we're on the subject, how about a second round?"

Her face just in front of his, he looked at her fully. She looked wild; clothes tangled, hair messed up, even simple make up ruined, her face flushed and with trails of sweat, the satiated look in her eyes already turned into something feral, and the most manly, the most primitive side of Bruce growled with satisfaction. He reached to touch her cheek, whispering harshly, "Already?"

"All this talk…" she breathed deeply, swinging one leg over his one at other side, and braced her hand on each side of his head to raise herself on all fours over him. "You've _such_ a way with words, it drives me crazy."

She moaned as his finger touched her lips lightly, rolling her head to keep up with the movements. "My sweet darling… Do you have the slightest idea how long I've been waiting for this?" she rasped out. "How many times I touched myself, imaging it was you touching me?" she asked, looking directly at his eyes. "I've been an exceptionally good girl, and now it's time to get my reward."

He grabbed her hands at the wrist, flipped her over, and pinned her under him. His hands pressed her wrists harder on the floor, but Valerie didn't object to being trapped under him, in fact she looked like she was enjoying it immensely. He brushed his lips against hers lightly before pulling back. She moaned in protest. "And you'll get it, my dear, you will definitely get it, repeatedly," he murmured heatedly.

He collected her in his arms, cradling her against his chest then dropped her on the bed. He put a hand on her cheek, caressed the smooth skin gently, and bent down. He brushed his lips over hers again. "Touch yourself, I want to see it."

Her half-closed, heavy eyes fluttered open and gazed at him. "Touch yourself," Bruce repeated again, taking her left hand downwards for emphasis. "I want to watch you."

Slowly, her hand crept between her legs while Bruce pulled her dress up to expose her black laced G-string, and the skin it barely covered. He hooked one finger to each side of the seductive underwear, and pulled it down slowly, over her hips then down her legs. Her hand crawled further, he pushed it back up to take off the dress and she raised her arms up willingly while he slowly undressed her, looking at his eyes. She wasn't wearing a bra, he had figured that important knowledge out minutes ago; she seldom wore a bra anyway, he already knew, already felt. He threw the garment behind his shoulder, sat on his knees and drank the sight of her.

Beautiful, she was beautiful, so truly beautiful. Porcelain smooth skin on dark sheets, luscious dark hair floating behind her head, light green eyes half closed, half watching him, misted with lust, wanton swollen lips slightly open as her hand crawled to touch herself. It slid through her folds, glazed eyes locked on him. "Talk to me—" he ordered, his voice a rasp, too close to another harsh whisper. "How did you do it the first time?"

"Bathroom—in the shower," she breathed out deeply. "I was so desperate it really took less than two minutes." She tossed her head to side, moaning as she massaged herself.

"And two fingers?"

"Yeah, done at the moment the third touched my clit."

"Good, push a finger inside."

She did, her middle finger became lost in her depths as she drew in a breath, pushing her hips upward. "Add another," Bruce ordered.

She obeyed again, giving a soft moan. His voice cracked when he spoke next. "Valerie, let me see you doing it."

And she did. She began pumping her fingers, her hips rising to meet with each thrust. When her other hand flew over to her clit, he grabbed it and pressed it on the mattress. "No, not yet, just fingers," he warned, her hand tightly pressed inside his palm.

Her movements grew more frantic as she twisted her body to a better angle, her fingers never halting as her moans grew louder, and Bruce watched the thing she'd been doing thinking of him, the thing had tormented him for so long on the lone cold nights, in the thin light before dawn.

Then she raised her leg, rested her foot on his chest, and swung the other aside to open herself fully to deeper thrusts. Her head was tossed back, eyes tightly closed, his name started to spill from her lips, soft pleading 'Bruce's, and he felt like he was about to simmer with lust and desire. He didn't know if he ever saw anything this alluring, this enticing, this enthralling, as she pleaded for him, face twisted in pleasure and sweet torture, waiting his order to touch herself fully.

So he let go of her hand, and ordered, thick voice laden with lust, "Touch your clit."

Her thrusts grew faster and clumsier and her body twisted further as she obeyed his command that instant, and she arched her back, her toes clenching into his skin, moans turning into groans... Bruce grabbed her ankle, pulled her leg down, and caught her other leg at the knee and yanked her closer to him.

She yelped first then cried out with sudden loss and opened her eyes to look at him. He leaned forward and pressed her hands on the mattress, trapping her. He rubbed his hardness over her. "Your fingers or me?"

In response, she raised her body and ground into him.

Letting out a rough faint chuckle, he freed her hands to push down his jeans as she worked on his shirt with her freed hands. He straightened, sat again on his knees and pulled her up too. They sat on their knees opposite each other, his shirt's buttons were already opened with her fast slender fingers, and she lowered it down over his shoulders, and kissed the bare skin she had exposed. Her mouth made wet trails over his chest, over countless wounds, bruises, and old scars, lips and tongue trying to make an esoteric map out of his skin, decipherable only to her.

He shuddered, biting her softly on the shoulder. Her hand slid toward his side, faltering on the newest wound. She whispered into his ear, her speech slurred—voice saucy and languorous. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head, looking straight at her eyes. "No more."

"Bruce," she breathed out, fingertips brushing his skin. "You're so beautiful, sometimes it hurts me. Sometimes it really does."

He trailed his lips over the side of her neck, where her old faded scar ran under her jaw line, hid through a cascade of soft hair, and murmured against it. "Men can't be beautiful."

"But you are," she said stubbornly, and sat on his folded legs, wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, legs circling around his hip. Looking at his eyes, she pleaded softly, "Bruce, please, fuck me."

Something, that primitive beast roared deep inside as he tipped her back on the mattress with his weight, positioned himself over her entrance and rubbed his erection over her folds. Her head dropped back, moaning, her eyes closed. He shook her to draw her attention back to him. "No, look at me…" he rasped out, "Don't close your eyes." He pushed himself in. Her legs were still wrapped around him, and she let out a long groan, her eyes fixed on him; hazy, misted with lust, desire, and need but still on him. "Yes, look at me," he pulled back and drove in again, "I'm fucking you, Valerie." He didn't care for dirty talk, found it too factitious, too artificial, too synthetic, but this was Valerie, his Valerie, and he was really fucking her, in his way, _finally._

They rolled over the sheet, never losing the contact even once, Valerie was sitting on him again, and they were in each other's embrace; Valerie squeezing the life out of him, gently rocking up and down. Then they were on their side; more adventurous as she bent down one leg through his and propped the other against his shoulder, his body twisting to find the right angle. Then she was up again...they kept rolling all around the sheets, the motions coming almost naturally, curious hands and teasing lips interacting continuously, and positions might have become demanding with someone else but –damn her father to hell- all those yoga sessions had really served to a purpose.

He pulled them up again, sat on his legs, and settled her on his lap. He arched her upper body backward by wrapping one arm around her lower waist as she entwined her legs around his hips, and kept thrusting up as she rocked her hips to get the friction. His free hand roamed over her body, open to his sight, her nipples erect, he twirled one between his fingers, and sucked on the other, and licked up to her neck's velvety skin. She arched her back even further in response, arms reaching back to brace herself as she rode to her ecstasy, her hair floating down like a dark cascade, muscles stretching, matching every thrust despite the irregularities in his pace, and he didn't even want to think how she had acquired that particular skill.

He felt himself losing control at the sight, this beautiful wanton demon-angel claiming her pleasure, from him, with him, through him. He tipped them down, back to the bed, lying over her, between her legs which automatically wrapped around his upper waist. He started to thrust again, a slowly building rhythm, tortuous but sweet, he worked on her until she was nothing but a trembling, whimpering, moaning, groaning bundle of need, and there were no coherent words spilling out of her mouth, no 'fuck-me-harder', no 'faster', no 'oh, you're so big', just 'Bruce' and 'darling', and he never let her close her eyes, to get lost in her own world, no, she had to see him, Bruce doing those things to her, it was him, _Bruce_, she was writhing under desperately. Her hair stuck to her forehead with perspiration, and he moved in her, each stroke deliberate—and just how he'd always imagined it, so close, so intimate, so good… worshipping her with his body.

And it took all of the training, willpower and concentration he had to make himself last as long as she could endure it.

Thank goodness, she couldn't take much more. He shifted the position of his leg hitting a new angle somewhere deep inside, and her leg circled around his waist further up. He gave six short shallow strokes, and rolled his hips then continued with long, deeper ones against the sweet point he'd discovered along her northern walls. Her back arched even further instantaneously, and her body contracted around his as she dug her fingers in his back, nails scratching his skin, her face frozen in the agony of bliss then with a long wail, she came, shattering.

Her muscles clutched around him, fluttering, and looking at her eyes, he let himself go too. He collapsed over her, shaking. She wrapped her arms around him, legs lowered around his hip loosely, pulling him still closer, bodies still bonded, and placed a chaste kiss on the angle of his neck and shoulder.

He shuddered, but not just because of his orgasm.

Minutes later, the world sat on its axis once again, senses started to make sense once again, and he slowly started pulling out of her, rolled over, and pulled the duvet over their sweaty bodies. He cradled her against his chest as she stretched her body, pressed at his side, smiling and satisfied. "I've missed this…"

"Sex? I can see," he mumbled laughing, voice still naturally thick and hoarse.

She let out something close to a soft giggle. "Um…not quite…sex without a condom, without protection, skin to skin…It was—nice." Then he felt his heart tighten in his chest once again. He lowered his arm over her waist to pull her even closer, and draped her over half of his body. She rubbed her nose over his neck. "You take good care of me, Bruce."

"I will always," he promised.

"I won't cook for you," she said abruptly. "And I'm certainly not giving up flirting."

He laughed, he laughed merrily, out loud, and bowed his head to kiss her hairline. "Go to sleep, baby."

"You're not still the boss of me, Bruce Wayne."

"No, I am not," he admitted then a beat later said, "but I'm the closest thing."

"Idiot," she shot back affectionately, snuggling up even further. Then she closed her eyes. He watched her, his fingertips gently caressing her back, a small smile on his lips, breathing her smell in, and then he closed his eyes too.

He didn't go out, he didn't even think he should have; that was their celebration night, and they earned this night, this breath out, this parade, even for one night; Gotham had to do without her guardian tonight.

* * *

Light seeped between the shades on the long windows of the penthouse and her body stirred against Bruce's. She could feel his arms wrapped around her waist, as she was more or less draped over his body, one leg curled between his. She stretched her limbs as far as Bruce's grip let her, and slowly opened her eyes, smiling wide, and saw Bruce's amused, glinting eyes already watching her, and it was the most fabulous scene to wake up to.

"Hmm," she purred, rubbing her nose over his skin. Smells assaulted her senses; the exquisite smell of sex, sweat, summer peaches, coconuts, her own smell, and Bruce's odor, crazily manly, and it turned her on a great deal. She rubbed her nose on him again, breathing in.

"Mornin'" Bruce murmured into her ear groggily, his fingertips making light circular motions over her skin.

She trembled, lifting her head to catch his lips, and she tasted remnants of last night; alcohol, and a few smokes on their breath, and it shouldn't have turned her on that much either, but it did anyway. Bruce's touch grew more sensual as he concentrated on the delicate spots that he had learned meticulously last night and she deepened the kiss, moving herself properly on him. His hands wandered downward, blindly touching that spot along the back of her rump, and she whimpered into his mouth. He tore his lips away, moving down, kissing along her jaw line.

She moaned, licked the spot under his ear, took his earlobe into her mouth and tugged at it. "Do you want it?" Bruce asked roughly, tongue flickering under her jaw line.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Yes, very," Bruce murmured heatedly, "An interesting way of waking up."

"I'd like to have the same treatment every morning."

"I'd like to comply very much with delight."

His hands wandered toward her hips and between, she moaned a little more. "Bruce, how about… a little less talk…more act—" She drew in a sharp breath as his hand slipped between their bodies, and fingertips brushed over her folds, and let it out a deep moan. "or better…'let actions speak louder than words'—"

"Valerie—"

She murmured against his lips, "Hmm?"

"Shut up."

And she did, with many exceptions of 'Bruce's for a good couple of hours.

x

Bruce watched her rambling to herself, and not showing any single trait of self-consciousness as she wandering naked around the room to collect her clothes. She picked up her dress from the corner where he had thrown it at some point last night and put her arms through it. "Hmpf…tons of gorgeous dresses, and terrific six inch heels, and it only took a simple summer dress and wedges to seduce you… What a waste of time."

"You didn't seduce me," Bruce shot back, eyes glinting with mirth.

"Yeah, sure…keep telling yourself that," she murmured then looked at the mirror, and sent him a glare through the reflection as his amusement grew even more. "And look at you," she exclaimed, turning to him, "sharp as ever, and I look like I've been run over by a truck. I look awful."

Truthfully she looked even… worse. Disheveled hair, even her simple make-up ruined, hickeys and scratches over her jaw and neck, she looked terrible but to Bruce it was one of the nicest scenes. "You're exaggerating, I've seen you looking worse. Why don't you take a shower?"

She sent him another glare. "To wear the same things afterwards?" She huffed. "I should have stashed a couple pairs of spare clothes around here too," she paused. "I'm really growing soft."

He stood up, walked toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I thought orgasms are supposed to make women less whinny." She gave him a stony look, and he faintly laughed back. "You look fine."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, you look like you're enjoying my current state immensely. Curious, you are a guy after all."

"I am," he answered seriously. "And I do like seeing you like this a lot."

Suddenly her pissed off expression turned into a worried one as she asked softly, "Really?"

He brushed a lock of hair gently from the back of her neck, and smiled. "I'm flesh and blood, Valerie, not a boy of wood. There is still blood in my veins; you know it, you've felt _it_ before."

She sighed out deeply. "Yes, yes I did. Bruce," she paused for a second, and then half smiled, leaning on him. "Have you masturbated thinking of me too?"

His brows furrowed into a scowl. "I don't masturbate."

She arched her eyebrow playfully. "Now, really?"

"But if I did, you'd be my sole candidate."

She shook her head, and giggled. "You're full of bullshit, Bruce Wayne."

He merely looked at her. She rose on her toes, whispered into his ear. "I don't believe you."

"Valerie, I'm trained on several self-discipline techniques to curb the body and bodily cravings. What makes you think I'd satisfy my…other passions by means of self-stimulations when I've even refused to… interact with my so called dates?"

"That's different. Sex means…attachments to you. No second party, no attachments."

"That's why I've refused it. It might have grown more difficult to resist the temptation if it'd turned into a habit whenever I felt overwhelmed. Think about it. Do you ever see a junkie who started to use heroin from the start?"

Her eyes narrowed as she mulled his words then they widened. "Are you trying to say—"

"Yes."

She drew in a silent breath, and whispered, "For how long?"

"For…a long time."

"And you can still last…like forever last night… even with all that, uh, pent-up energy. Bruce, it's…you're insane."

"It's a—choice."

She shook her head again. "Still insane… but wow…okay, color me impressed then now," she paused, softly giggling, and coiled her arms through his neck. "So…," she bit her bottom lip as a predatory glint sparked her eyes. "How was it?"

He tightened his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. "Wasn't it obvious?"

Her lips pulled into a suggestive smile. "Hmm…" She leaped on him, wrapped her legs over his waist, and let out a deep exaggerated sigh. "I can be so slow sometimes. Why don't you show it to me again?"

"Again?" He shook his head, carrying her to the bed. "Woman, you're insatiable."

"And don't say you don't like it, that much was very obvious. I even say you need it, quite a lot." Her back touched the bed. "God…who knows how many years… you beautiful stone headed idi—"

He silenced her with a kiss then whispered against her lips. "I didn't do it, but I took lots of cold showers, baby."

She moaned as his hand started to wander downward, just above her navel line then she gasped when his fingertips went even further south. "Well, that's som—ahh—" She could only mutter before the rest of words turned into another string of 'Bruce's.

x

Bruce had only convinced her to get out of the bed—and up from the floor for that matter, she had become a little bit wilder to handle—to return to the manor after the sun started setting in the west. She looked entirely worse for wear, but a very satisfied smile was on her lips and the look of it made Bruce's insides grumble approvingly.

She rested her back against the door, eyes closed, feet across his lap, and her smile on her lips, while he put up the roof of the car to give her some privacy; not that she'd care, neither would he. One part of him wanted to show her to the world in this state, glowing in her bliss, subsided, winded down by him—by no one else but him, while the other wanted to hide her away from the whole world, from everyone, from all those people who had hurt her, or wanted to hurt, and even the ones she had hurt.

Damn her, damn her…she even managed to turn something as insubstantial as condoms into an instrument of Victorian romance. And she always accused him of being dramatic. Smiling absentmindedly, he took one hand from the wheel and caressed her ankle softly. With her eyes still shut, she smiled wider, and hummed softly, well-cared for, sleek, content, and happy.

He drove inside the gates, and parked at the end of the drive way. Valerie leaped out, and rushed inside. He went after her, smiling. "Alfred! Hey, guess what happened last night?" she asked breathlessly to Alfred when he met them in the hall. The older man arched one eyebrow, first looking at her, taking in her appearance fully then his gaze skipped toward Bruce, and to the relaxed smile that overshadowed his attempt at a simple look of disapproval.

Alfred smiled gently at him before Valerie exclaimed, "WE HAD SEX! Tons of it… and all were fabulous…oh my, you wouldn't believe." Bruce smiled before taking Valerie's elbow to lead them away. "I myself barely do. I mean…he was penting up so much … I'm not only talking about stuff with me though…" She leant forward. "Did you know he wasn't—_OUCH!_ That hurt!"

"Shut up, _darling_."

* * *

_A/N: Excuse Valerie for her enthusiasm, it's been long :D _

_God, this chapter, written about when I started writing Contact, was one of the first things I've ever done, and it's also the reason why I dragged things between Bruce and Valerie this long. It was a struggle, not because of I needed to make Bruce Wayne into an established relationship(god, especially 'I love you' part was hard, but I managed to make my way around it) but because I couldn't decide. Valerie wanted 'up against window', but Mr. Wayne insisted that it had to be 'bed', and I just couldn't decide. Then in a moment of brilliancy, I just said, 'who says I need to choose? To hell with it, I'm gonna do both!'_

_Extremely loud, incredibly closer, is a name of a book, whose writer I don't remember as of the moment. Valerie's thoughts about people's need to hear the words is something from that book, if I'm not horribly wrong. __The pub scene also is adapted from one of Random's stories, the story that made me thinking about writing this piece._

_Now, the story without that orange review decorating looked very unfashionable. Please, be nice, and review. I'd like to hear what you think._

_(The new layout of FFnet is horrible, just horrible.)_


	3. The Late Summer Heat

_A/N: Here, with the courtesy of Moonstruck Kitten, the second chapter, in which nothing really happens, except sex :) It's not my fault, really, __but the nature of relationships. Before you settle down in a relationship, it's all about sex, sex, sex, isn't it? Right?_

_Ovid's In Summer's Heat is a beauty itself, one of the most erotic poetry has ever written. Strongly reccommend it._

**Chapter Two: The Late Summer Heat**

* * *

_In summer's heat and mid-time of the day  
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay_

_Elegy V, Ovid_

_x_

By the time Valerie made it to the entrance steps to the grounds, Bruce was lost in thought, staring at the tiles absentmindedly, his hips resting on the stair rail. It had been one week, one wondrous week full of Valerie in every breadth of the time; sitting on his lap, lying next to him, hugging, talking, laughing, eating, joking, making love, making love a lot—Valerie consuming the last part of his life that she hadn't been part of, quickly but steadily, decisively.

Bruce had never needed to make himself go out at night before, but leaving her behind was hard, harder than he had imagined.

Sensing her presence, he lifted his head and looked at her as she bounced down the steps. She stopped at the step just below his, and smiled breathlessly up at him. "My darling," she cooed. "Are we ready for a good exercise?"

He responded with a gentle smile, and started to run down the remaining steps. "If you lose," he yelled over his shoulder, "you're going to cook me dinner."

She laughed aloud and ran after him. "Hah! You wish!" She reached him at the lowest step and caught him by the shoulder, yanking him back. She giggled as she ran past him. Bruce stopped momentarily to give her a look, eyes glinting with mirth, his usual disapproval absent. He couldn't be this happy, he had never been, it was even odd to feel this happy, but he was, he was happy. "Valerie—no playing dirty," he shouted after her.

"Not going to happen," she half-sung, still laughing.

He caught her around her elbow, and threw her back. "Bruce—!"

Two minutes later, he picked up his pace, widening the distance between them, and she picked up hers as well, her face set decisively. By the time Bruce made it back to the entrance, she was panting heavily a few feet behind him with her hands braced on her knees. Bruce causally leaned on the steps, his breathing labored but not reduced to panting. .

He started to walk over her, "So…?"

"Not—going to—cook" she panted out.

He caught her at her waist, pulled her upright, and whispered roughly in her ear, "I'll think of something else then."

"Bruce—" She curled her arms around his neck. "How about—another kind of morning exercise?"

"What kind exactly?"

She smiled. "Take me back to bed and I'll show you personally, in detail."

* * *

Valerie made another tactical retreat.

A good soldier should know when to retreat, analyze the situation better and strike back when the opportunity arose again. She couldn't say she was able to analyze the situation any better or create an opportunity to strike back but nevertheless no tactical retreat had ever felt this good before. A whole week, beside Bruce, next to him, without needing to provide a reason just to be in his vicinity, a whole week waking to his eyes; the warm, gentle, affectionate eyes that already settled on her… Not to mention the sex…the mind blowing, splendid, fabulous sex.

Yes, the last week—the time since her last tactical retreat had passed with such wonders but she was still planning to go to Arkham with Bruce. She hadn't said her last word _yet._

He walked into the cave, bringing her pill with a glass of water and her sandwich. First he gave her a quick peck on the lips, then popped the pill in her mouth, brought the glass up between her lips and tilted the bottom up. She drew one sip and gulped it down, eyes fixed on his, then he handed her the sandwich—cream, two slices of cheese and a thin slice of fresh tomato; just the way she liked it. Her sweet darling, always making sure she was properly taken care of. Smiling she stood up, placed the sandwich on the workbench, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Darling," she drawled out, necking him before breathing in his ear, "You're so sweet I could eat you up," and demonstrated her intentions by nicking his earlobe slightly with the tips of her teeth.

"Valerie—"he said his voice getting hoarse, close to a breathless rasp, and he pulled her off his neck. "I need to go out—"

She found her way to his skin again. "Let's misbehave first. The filth of Gotham isn't going anywhere."

He dropped his head on her neck, pulling her closer, and countered acutely, "You're not going anywhere either."

She closed her eyes for a moment at the heat of his voice, and mumbled, "No…but I'm burning. When you're this sweet, it sets me on fire." She took a step backwards pulling him along, and rested her hips on the side of the workbench. "Cool me… here—on the bench—used to dream about it—"

"With me?"

"Oh, definitely with you," she conceded, letting a breath out. "For example, the lovely spot just over he—" Her next words were cut off again as he made a move onward and pushed her back. She leaned back and arched above the workbench, their legs intertwining as he kissed her hungrily. She responded with an equal hunger, her mouth wanton, fighting for dominance. One hand slipped under the thin fabric of her tee shirt, and Valerie momentarily cursed her choice in clothing. Jeans were bad… bad for sex, dresses were so much easier.

Suddenly he—his lips—his hands stopped, and he drew back. His face was blank underneath a trace of shock, eyes fixed in the direction of the lift. She rested her back fully on the bench and dropped her head over the opposite edge to look toward the entrance. She met Alfred's eyes, whose face bore the same expression as Bruce's. She sighed. "Hi, Alfred."

Bruce turned away and ran to his closet. She straightened, and watched Alfred walk to his post as she forced herself to resist the urge to jump Bruce in the closet and have her wicked ways with him until she was properly cooled down, any audience be damned.

She waited until Bruce emerged. When he did, clad in his armor, he walked directly to the Batpod and suddenly the whole thing seemed hysterical to her. "Come back soon, darling," she yelled at his retreating back, laughing. "I'll be _waiting._"

Bruce briefly halted, while Alfred gave her a look, and she laughed again.

* * *

Selina's attention was drawn from the computer as she leaned toward the plate. "Crème Brule?" she asked, sniffing, and a genuine smile blossomed on the enigmatic woman's lips. "Hmm... it smells delicious, dearie."

Holly smiled widely. She liked making Selina smile; she felt happy whenever Selina gave her those rare true smiles. Even though she'd known it was stupid, during the days that Holly had been in _their_ horrible company she couldn't help but wish for someone to rescue her. Selina wasn't exactly the type of hero that she'd been daydreaming of, but regardless, she loved Selina as much as she had loved her dreams, as much as she had loved her hopes. Perhaps, even more, much, much more.

Before Selina, the only person who had ever cared for Holly was her grandma. Her grandma… They had lived in a small village, close to Odessa, close to the Black Sea; the feisty, surly, harsh, beautiful Black Sea. Her grandma used to say that the seas had souls, and Holly used to think that her grandma's soul was very akin to the Black Sea.

Her grandmother… Sometimes, despite the very obvious differences, Holly couldn't help but think that Selina was much like her grandma. Feisty, surly, harsh and beautiful, Selina had the soul of the Black Sea, too.

Her grandma had survived the unforeseen dangers throughout her long years before one day she simply passed away peacefully in her sleep. But the most incredible thing about her was her ability to be alone. Holly and the people she saw in their little TV were enough for her. She hadn't stood for the neighbors who had felt the need to check on them because they believed it was what was expected of them, or the other children in their neighborhood who had wanted to play with Holly. She hadn't even stood the cats that sometimes came to their porch to escape the harsh winter air in Odessa.

Selina was really very like her grandma on this matter Holly had already realized, despite being constantly circled by people, Selina couldn't stand them either. They were both people who could only concentrate their love on one particular object instead of distributing it superficially over the masses. The capacity for feeling was the same, only a more intensified, a concentrated sentiment for the receiving party, and Holly loved it, loved it so much, because if they had been nice to everyone, then Holly wouldn't have been different. Just some poor orphan everyone simply acknowledged out of pity.

If one asked Holly how she knew that Selina loved her like that, she wouldn't have been able to explain, but when there had been only one person who really cared about you through your whole life, you learned to recognize the feeling.

Holly's parents had died in a traffic accident when she had been a little girl, and Holly hadn't been too particularly upset about it. They'd died while driving to a restaurant—dinner outside of the home was a luxury for the poor life they had been living so she was particularly spiteful that she missed the occasion—leaving her to her grandma, and Holly simply stayed where she had been left behind. When she was younger, sometimes she used to think that someday they would come back from the restaurant. Self-delusions, it was called, later she would learn.

She had grown up now… She had witnessed so many horrible things… and had she missed them? Sometimes, usually on long, cold winter nights, with a longing coated by a cold fury, lying on the hard concrete floor Dahlia had made them sleep on as punishment. Most of the time, tears came to her eyes before sleep, and she couldn't be sure if they were a vengeful mutiny against the fate, or from love, or from longing or from a deep craving for nostalgia, telling herself it was probably because of habit, she used to lure herself to sleep.

Self-deluding, fooling yourself—it had been always one of her strongest abilities for Holly had understood even in her younger years that it was _impossible_ to live through life exactly how it happened, without glorifying or diminishing events. And again Holly knew even though she couldn't explain, that on that regard, Selina and her were very much alike.

Selina smiled again at her before returning her attention to her computer screen. Holly looked at a photo of a woman on the screen—dirty blonde hair, beautiful but harsh lines on an angled face, cruel lips, fierce eyes, intense and unyielding, captured in TV motion. Holly recognized the GCC logo on the screen, and read _'Batman's identity revealed.'_ below the still frame of the news. She returned her eyes to Selina, and then asked tentatively, "Who is she?"

Selina looked at the woman and murmured slowly, "I'm not particularly sure, dearie," Then her glinting gaze found hers, "—but I will be."

* * *

Valerie stood against a traffic light in the City Hall district, her left hip propped against the long pole, her eyes hidden behind enormous sunglasses as she watched a fierce red headed girl shop across the street.

Her eyes caught her reflection in the display window of the candy shop behind her and she nodded at herself approvingly. With her hair pulled into two pigtails, and her body clad in simple jeans and a tee shirt, she certainly didn't look anything like the girl who was seen draping over the arms of Bruce Wayne occasionally. One of the bright sides of Bruce's wound was that they had had to stay in house more since his shooting. No more dinner parties, fundraisers, openings, well, the weeks before the last one had been a little dull, but there was no complaining from her about the last one. She hadn't seen anything really entertaining at those parties anyway.

Opening a lollipop package, her attention turned to the redhead, a.k.a her job of today. Despite the Hollywood's perceptions and expectations, in the world of gathering intelligence the most important thing was surveillance. Regardless of Bruce's personal preferences, the enemy was less likely to hide behind Kevlar than they were to hide offshore accounts and blind trusts, and usually once you picked up a bad guy's money trail, finding their weak points was just a matter of doing your homework.

For that very reason, in their life style, the most importing thing—more important than acrobatics, and gun and man power, though they surely helped matters a lot—was the an ability to adopt different personalities in a matter of mere seconds, the ability to sell believable lies in an instant, and some serious improvising skills under duress.

While she knew how to use a gun and could hold her own in a fight, she had always excelled at what was really important. Infiltration. You wanted to know someone's dirty little secrets, she was your go-to-girl; you wanted to penetrate someone's inner circle, she was your go-to-girl or she had been before she'd put a foot down, and said no to any partnerships in—crime. Most of times partners meant only trouble and she was fed up with carrying their leftovers on her person.

But it didn't change the practice, she was _still _very good at it; as useless as she was dealing with her own authentic feelings she had this incomprehensible ability to fake them. Perhaps Jason had been right; she was only good at pretending.

But not anymore… no. She'd stopped and stayed, and she'd even gotten her reward too. She thought of her reward, and clenching the lollipop between her lips, she fished her phone out of her jeans. She dialed Bruce and took the candy in her other free hand before giving it another suck. "Miss me?"

Her reward laughed sarcastically. "Valerie, how could I miss you when you call me every ten minutes?"

She took another suck and gulped before she answered, "Not every ten minutes. It's been—" She slanted a glance over her wrist to read her watch, "—sixteen minutes since our last talk."

"Sorry, my bad."

"What are you doing?"

"Preparing for a meeting, like sixteen minutes ago."

She rolled her eyes. "Georgina went to the hairdresser." She sucked her candy again. "I got bored."

"Sorry," he mumbled, then paused, "Valerie, are you—sucking something?"

"A lollipop," she exclaimed. "There is a candy shop behind me. I ate cotton candy too!"

Bruce was silent for a second then said slowly, "Just behave."

"Why, darling, are you casting aspersions that I'm sucking this harmless candy in a seductive display to draw attraction?" She let out a husky laugh. "I'd never do such a thing."

"Of course not," he answered. "Be careful."

"I am, always," she replied then whispered, "Bruce, darling, why don't you ditch that silly board meeting and come see me so I show you how much I've missed you?"

"You showed me this morning in detail."

"Ah," she drawled. "But I wasn't missing you then. It was just—connecting, you know, spiritual bonding."

"Hmm," Bruce said.

"Yes," she answered back. "_Come on_ darling, Georgina probably won't be out for an hour, she's a real bitch. And the penthouse is only a few blocks away." She hollowed her cheeks and sucked her candy loudly. "You know, this lollipop is full of calories. I need to burn them with a good exercise."

"Valerie—"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Stop distracting me."

She huffed. "People go on vacations on their first weekend, and we chase after people on surveillance," she grunted under her breath. "Some boyfriend you are. You said we were going to take some days off once we caught the Irish."

"We did," Bruce objected. "We did almost nothing last week."

"You went out every night."

"Valerie—" He started but she cut him off.

"Buy me that spa, so our weekends could be like we're on vacation. See, a perfect plan. Never say my plans are sloppy."

"Valerie, people don't ask their boyfriends to buy them spas."

"Don't they?"

"No. It's not—decent," Bruce answered.

She laughed out, "Good thing that I'm never decent then."

"I noticed," Bruce grunted.

She laughed again, then stopped, "Dammit!" she exclaimed, "Gotta go, target is out." She threw the candy over her shoulder into the waste bin and walked away from her post. "Have fun in your boring meeting, and don't forget to think about me, preferably naked, and squirming under you. Byeee!"

She closed the phone, tucked it into her back pocket, and zigzagged around moving cars, ignoring the drivers that honked and/or cursed at her loudly as she crossed the street.

Walking into the stylish _Jackie's_, she approached the receptionist behind the counter. She checked around and when she saw no one she leaned on the counter, and set a hundred bucks on it. She lifted hers eyes up to the girl, in her mid-twenties—a Botox Barbie, with a good blonde dye job—the benefits of Jackie certainly, and ridiculous lavender contact lenses, wearing a fake Burberry top with deep cleavage—and pushed the bill toward her but didn't pull her hand back. "Wanna make some quick money?"

The girl looked at the bill. Valerie pointed at the black notebook in front of her with her other hand, "I'd like to have a look at that."

The Botox Barbie looked doubtful for a moment then she pushed the book toward her and pulled the money toward herself, any qualm for client privacy vanishing under the lure of cold-hard cash. Valerie looked down, took a quick photo of the credit card details with her phone, and spotted Georgina's next appointment.

It seemed next Friday she would need to make some new friends.

* * *

After the sixth rescue and catching two fences, and a drug dealer, (although not one that dealt with the blue flower—another misfortunate episode of fake ecstasy had occurred in Gotham last week) she decided that it was high time that Bruce returned.

"Six rescues, three captures," she said into the wireless, pleased as Alfred turned toward her. "Let's call it a night," she paused half of a second, "well, not quite, but something close, if you catch my drift."

He did, she knew he did. "I need to make another patrol," he answered.

Valerie sighed deeply, her eyes catching on the workbench, before they returned to the screen. "Bruce, come back," she said sternly. "There is an item from your gifts that you still haven't gotten the chance to see." Not because of any lack of trying on her part, of course. "And I've set my mind on its beauty being properly appreciated tonight."

He stayed in silence for a second, then hissed out, "Run the dots, I'm on my way."

"Good boy," she laughed into wireless severing the link. She turned to Alfred. "I'm going up. Could you tell him that I'm waiting in the bedroom once he's in?" She walked toward the lift to leave the cave and faltered only to give to Alfred a saucy look. "Tell him not to bother with showering." Then with a little wink, she got into the lift.

Approximately eighteen minutes later, inside the bathroom, Valerie heard the bedroom's door open. Eighteen minutes, coming to the manor from the Bowery to the Pallisades, then tearing off each plate of the armor…hmm… Not showering. What a good boy.

"Valerie," she heard Bruce say, "If you're in there showering, I'll be severely pissed."

She chuckled, giving her reflection in the mirror a final look, and opened the door. She braced her arm up on the corner. "Why bother? We'll get sweaty soon enough." She cocked her head to the side. "Like it?" She smiled, dropped her hand, and rubbed her palms along her sides. "Quite tasteful, wasn't I right?"

Bruce's eyes darkened as he took in the black babydoll with matching satin thong, and delicate lacework garter circling around her left thigh. Her legs seemed endless in six inch heels, and the ruby necklace he had 'bought' her dangled, just kissing the top of her breasts. He let out a breath. "I—agree."

Her lips pulled into a delighted smile then she was sauntering toward him. "You also agree that you were an exceptional idiot refusing to see it before?"

He looked at the elegant transparent tulle showing every curve of her, and shook his head slightly. "Not quite."

She sniffed. "You're such a luck boy that you have a girlfriend like me, with such a forgiving golden-heart," she shot back, swinging her hips for show, smiling an open but dirty smile.

Bruce half snorted with a faint laugh, and mumbled, his voice roughing with lust, "Yeah, such a golden heart."

"Let's face it, boyfriend, I'm practically perfect… Gorgeous," she punctuated each word with a small step, "smart, with a heart of gold, and—" She halted, and gave him a speculating look, "still burning inside. My sweet one, what do you plan to do about it?"

He gave her another heated look, and shot back, "I've a few things in mind."

"_Just a few?_" She stopped at the dressing table where he rested, and sat on the next to him. She crossed her legs and ran her fingertips along the edge of the garter, her eyes catching his. "Do you think it'd be enough? I'm really _hot._"

"I think I can handle it."

She let out a dirty laugh, and stretched her legs over the table, bracing her palms on the surface. "I have very high stamina."

"I noticed." And he noticed too that the dressing table, which she had personally chosen, rose to just inches below his crotch, perfectly synchronized with her body on it; his smart girl always prepared for every opportunity. She laughed again and twisted her body backward to reach the iPod set behind her on the far edge of the counter, and started to search through the playlist, then she nodded approvingly as a beaty pop-jazz music started. She looked back up at him. When the singer started singing '_baby, come back to me, please darling can't you see… that I'm addicted to you_', Bruce shook his head. Trust her to not be subtle with anything.

He closed on in her a second later but stopped in front of her. He bent his head down toward hers but kept his lips hovering just above hers. He slowly passed his fingertips through the length of her hair, moved his head with small gentle moves, never touching. She gulped, breathing out languorously, moving her head to keep up with his motions, the tips of their noses rubbing each other gently. When he finally touched—just a brief brush—her lips, she straightened and caught him around his neck. She pulled him down into a lustful kiss; her mouth hot and moist; demanding, eager, wanton.

Bruce bit her bottom lip, answering her passion, his hands catching her at the waist to pull her closer to him.

When the rhythm of the music softened, she broke their contact abruptly, her hands crawling upward, and she caught his hair to lift his head up. "Enough playing… I want you, now," she exhaled deeply and slid her legs off the dressing table kicking her shoes off. "Bruce—" she breathed out and then again, "Bruce… such a powerful name you have… Makes me feel like liquid fire runs through my veins just saying it… Bruce—" She drew in another deep breath, tossed her head back, closing her eyes and called him again. "Bruce," she tilted her head back up, opened her eyes and looked straight into his. "Make me scream, make me scream your name."

In answer, he shoved her against the wall and wrapped her legs around his waist. He yanked the thin strap on her left shoulder, revealing her breasts while his other hand ripped off her thong. Valerie gasped. "You will, you will—very…" he muttered before bowing his head to lick her neck, trailing down to suck her nipple as one hand rubbed the other breast through the thin fabric while the other clenched around her waist keeping her in position. He was going to have her there, on her dressing table, was going to make her scream… so loud… his name… always his name… He freed himself and drove his way in.

She groaned in response to the first thrust, her hands flying up to find something to brace herself while Bruce's slid down pulling her toward him. A flying hand knocked over the iPod beside her before it found the window's handle just above her head and the other dug into the corner, as she pulled herself up and down to meet with his fast, rough, savage thrusts.

His hands found hers as he picked up his speed, and her mews turned into loud rough groans mixed with lascivious cries, which meant she was close, he knew, he already knew every little noise she made, had already categorized them all over the last week. "Bruce… ahh… Bruce—" Not enough—not good enough—not loud enough…

"Valerie—" he gasped out, "Scream… my name—"

"Bruce—"

"Louder—"

"Hit me then, darling," she panted out with groans. "Slap my pussy."

Their gaze locked on each other.

"Slap my pussy."

His blood turned molten in his veins, scorching him further into a lustful frenzy. Darkened eyes narrowing in carnal desire, he lowered his hand down and obeyed. She tossed her head back into the window with a loud groan from the back of her throat and grunted out, "Faster—" he obeyed again, but she shook her head, frustrated. "For god's sake, don't be a sissy—harder—_harder!_"

Once again, he followed her command, twisting her to get a better angle, and picking up the speed, his blows landing just over her clit, simultaneously with his thrusts, her skin reddening with force, and she arched, a long groan spilling from her lips, then rasped out, "Now, pinch—it."

"Val—"he grunted.

"Shut up, do it."

And he did pinch her, hard, and by the third pinch, the hardest, her loud groans had turned into breathless cries, and her fingers clamped around his, her nails digging into his flesh. He stopped, removing their hands, and secured them behind her back by wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. She arched beneath him even further, and he pulled her toward him even faster.

"Legs up, across my back," he rasped out. "Tie your ankles around my shoulders." Without hesitating she obeyed, trapped under his mercy as he rode her with a maddening pace, her helpless cries finally turning into loud unabashed screams… and his name… always his name… just his name…. growing louder and louder.

x

When Alfred first heard the sounds he hadn't understood what they were, it sounded like cats mewing on the roof, then he heard the moving of furniture and by time he heard a certain male groaning accompanying it he had already gathered what was happening. He should have really guessed from the beginning, it was something that had grown into a regular happenstance in the manor in the last week.

By the time the loud moans turned into loud cries Alfred stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about what was happening, and how much distance there was between his room and the master bedroom, and what was _exactly_ happening in there that he could still hear it.

By the time cries turned into loud screams, Alfred decided that it was the high time that he purchased ear plugs.

x

Little tremors shook her as Bruce stayed his head buried between her breasts, wet and covered with beady drops of sweat. The poor elegant lingerie hung limply over her sweaty body, her arms were still pinned behind her back and her legs were loosely looped around his hips. Bruce exhaled in short breathless gasps then slumped to the floor. His grip on her body lost, Valerie followed him down, landing atop on him.

She trembled, panting slightly, and closed her eyes. They stayed motionless on the floor for a while before the spasms ceased and Bruce started to stir under her. She tightened her arms around him in protest.

He chuckled. "We need to start moving." He gave her a look. "You 'kay, right?"

She smiled into his chest. "Takes a lot more than this to wear me out, Bruce Wayne."

"I noticed."

"Are you complaining?"

He shook his head. "Nope." He paused for a breath. "Come on, up, we really need to move, need to hit the shower."

She rubbed her nose over his neck. "Decisions, decisions…"

He chuckled roughly again. "About what?"

She sighed against his skin. "I like how you smell after a shower, so nice, but I like how you smell now too. I can't decide."

Bruce shook his head. "Well, I don't see why you can't decide. I don't smell awful—um, but I don't smell nice either. I'm all sweaty—" He tilted his head down. "You really couldn't even wait for me for a shower?"

"Did that look like I could wait to you?" she asked pointing at the table behind them. "Besides I've waited long enough. And why should we waste time? I was really planning to get you all sweaty after I was done with you, anyway."

"Hmm," Bruce hummed, his hand caressing her back.

"Yes. And again—I like how you smell now… how you look… glistening with perspiration, the smell of splendid sex and good honest work… underneath your own odor… something like coconut—" She paused to take in a deep breath, and rubbed her nose over his skin again. The motions of his hand grew more sensual and his pace dropped into a slower leisured motion. "Crazily manly—darling, your scent drives me crazy."

Bruce drew in a deep, labored breath, and lifted her head up to make her look at him. "Valerie, are you buttering me up for another round?"

Her smile widened, and she rubbed herself over his half-hard bulk, the new friction over their bare skin made him close his eyes and tilt his head in pleasure. Her smile grew sensual. "Is it working?" she purred, then found herself pinned under him, his weight pressing her down, and it was the most fabulous place to be.

She hummed throatily, pleased, then Bruce warned, "Don't get any ideas. We're going to shower and sleep. I need to wake up early, and dawn is already closing in."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Gotham Hospital's groundbreaking is coming up. Rupert Elliot and I have an appointment with the Law Department in the morning. We're tying up the last of the loose ends. "

"I see that _the Law Department_ can't wait."

"Baby, why on the green earth would you be jealous of Ms. Tate?"

"I'm not jealous, Bruce Wayne," she seethed between her teeth. "In case that you missed it, I'm very pissed off."

He smiled gently, and Valerie looked more pissed off but she didn't try to break his grip. "Why are you pissed off then?"

"I spent six—six horrible months there and never got to see your office even once. And that tart-in-designer-suit started playing the good neighbor with you after what—one week?"

He laughed. "You were working for Fox. Why would I have needed to see you in my office?"

"That's beside the point," Valerie fumed. "I take these kinds of things very personal."

He laughed again, but this time a little more moderately. "I apologize for my irrational behavior then."

"Ok," she said then paused for a beat as if she wanted to decide on something, "I still want to fuck though."

He dropped his head down between her breasts. "When it comes to sex, you're the most single-minded person I've ever met," he mumbled against her skin.

She sniffed. "I thought in the traditional boyfriend-girlfriend relationships, the male participants are the nags."

He lifted his head up and looked at her. "Let's sleep now, and tomorrow morning I'll—nag you as much as you like. I'm really tired now."

Her expression softened at his rare admission of fatigue then she drew in a short sudden breath and pushed him off. She sat on her legs. "Did you get hurt on your way back? Or is it the wound?"

"Valerie—"

Her hand flew to touch his side. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked scowling at him.

"Valerie, baby, I'm fine. Nothing happened. I'm just—tired. It was a long day, and you weren't particularly easy to handle over there."

She looked skeptical. He rose on his knees and looked at her. "I'm fine," he repeated. "You just wore me out."

She finally nodded and stood up, catching Bruce's hand and pulled him upright. She dragged him to the bed. "Shower?" Bruce asked.

"I've decided that—" Valerie pushed him down on the bed. "I like you smelly better." She dropped the almost-ruined lingerie off her shoulders and jumped on the bed too. She threw herself to other side over him and rested herself against his body. She lifted her head up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Now, sleep, my sweet darling. Rest."

Bruce tugged her head on his chest, kissed her hair and closed his eyes. She closed hers then too.

* * *

In that mystical thin hour before dawn, Bruce opened his eyes and watched the sun rise over Valerie's naked body. Pressed into his side, her back rested carelessly over half of his chest, her leg—still wearing the garter—tangled between his, her kinky ass pressed into his hip as she slept; she was gorgeous, enchanting, and so beautiful. His mind unconsciously skipped over an old memory from the past, a memory of an old Parisian director he once met, who used to say that as the dawn broke over a woman, as the sun rose upon her, bathing her in its majestic sunlight, even the ugliest woman could seem like the most beautiful woman in the world, and a beautiful woman became a true goddess.

Bruce couldn't have guessed how right the old man had been.

Valerie liked sunlight, liked the feel of the rays seeping into the bed upon waking, and Bruce—more than anything—liked making her happy, like seeing her happy; so the heavy velvet curtains over his windows had gone, it was the first thing he had done last week, replacing them with light shades that were never closed completely letting sunlight seep through the gaps. , and he watched her wake up every morning, the sun shining over her naked body as she smiled wide and opened her eyes to look at him, stretching her limbs, still pressed against him. Then she mounted on him, and they made love—slow, sweet, tender, every morning; no matter how wild she turned in the night, in the morning she always wound down, and Bruce couldn't help but wonder if it was a side effect of passing the night with him, of sleeping in his arms.

Slowly, careful that he didn't wake her up, he shifted her off his chest and turned her fully on her side, so that he could rest her back against his torso. Valerie murmured groggily, pressed to him, her arms stirring to find him again and he cuddled her from behind, pulled her closer, dropping his head into the angle of her shoulder, and it was only then she ceased her slight motions and returned to sleep.

He smiled against her skin and began to move one arm downward, first slowly circling the outer lines of her breast but without closing in on her nipples. When he did, just slow faint brushes, her breathing itched, her lips opened slightly, and she pressed herself back on his hardness unconsciously, but Bruce knew she wasn't faking, she was still asleep. He watched her sleeping a lot in the last week, partly because he liked watching her sleep, and partly because he wanted to make sure that she didn't suffer any bad dreams. His every attempt to talk about them had been swept aside by airy comments and notorious advances whenever he had wanted to bring the subject up but nevertheless he had learned quite a lot during those hours to know if she was faking sleep.

He moved his arm further south slowly, brushing his fingertips over her waistline and watched her as she stirred along his body slightly. His lips twitched up further and he slid his hand further downward, gently caressing her inner thigh. When he moved his hand to touch the lips down there, she gasped out and a flicker of something passed over her expression before returning to her neutral look. He chuckled faintly, brought his lips into her ear, his hand still playing with her. "Open your eyes, baby. I know you've woken up."

She opened her eyes, tilted her head to look at him, and smiled wide. "Not tired anymore?"

"No," he breathed out pushing a finger inside her folds.

She tossed her head back on his shoulder, moaning, as her eyes lifted to find his again, "An interesting way for a demonstration."

"Fulfilling my part of the traditional boyfriend-girlfriend relationship," he answered, breathing out roughly. "My way of—nagging."

She pushed herself against his palm pressing it into her pubic bone, just above her bundle of nerves and he slid it up and down gently. She dropped her head further back on his shoulder, "Oh—_please._"

He momentarily pulled his hand away and Valerie moaned in protest. He took her hand and brought them both over her entrance. "Guide me in." He breathed into her ear. "Show me how you did it, again, thinking of me." He placed his fingers over hers and pushed in, their fingers tangled deep inside her depths. "Together…" he whispered out.

Valerie groaned as his other hand crawled down and found her clit. He started making leisurely circular motions, and soon she was squirming against his body, pressing back at his hardness, rubbing herself up and down. She wrapped her free hand back around his neck and rode faster along his stone-hard penis as Bruce tightened his grip and caught her lips in a passionate kiss.

She didn't last long nor did he.

* * *

_A/N: Yup, I have a 'thing' for masturbation, move along :D (One of these days, I'm gonna write about a megolomaniac who wants to clone himself/herself so he/she could have sex wit his/her 'self'. Amazing, isn't it? The true form of self-fullfillment :))_

_Valerie's thought about survelliance was inspired by Burn Notice. Micheal was saying somethig along these lines in an episode._

_I call this chapter and the next one is 'adaption/settlement act' before things start to happen, much like in Contact. _

_Hope you enjoyed, I tried to keep the passion and compassion together without turning things into blunt porn, hence slapping and pinching._

_Edit: Ooops, I forgot to mention, the song that I used a few lyrics is Addicted from Waldeck._

_Later._

_G._


	4. Unleashed

_A/N: Here another entry for the Settlement Arc._

_And, another silly action scene at the end, and I do mean silly by _silly_; consider yourself warned. I'm *almost* ashamed to post it, you know. _

**Chapter Three: Unleashed**

* * *

Today was her birthday and even though she hadn't gotten any wiser with age, she'd become clear-sighted, and some things were just a little hard not to notice if you had half of a brain. She wasn't getting any younger.

From where she lay on the bed in their filthy basement that had become her home for the past three years, she looked at the new girls. Little new girls… Teary eyes wide with dread as they traveled around, hushed frightened whispers, the same fear shadowing every one of them, the same fear shadowing herself.

Her eyes flicked toward the little woman-child lying on the bed next to hers, and her hands pulled into fists as she gritted her teeth. She had no option… Her life shouldn't end here, she had had so many hopes, had so many dreams… it wouldn't end like this, not in this hive of depravity, waiting for her expiration date to come.

She looked at the beautiful Katya and steeled herself against tears. The beautiful girl was already a walking corpse, she wasn't going to make it; she wasn't going to survive this. The pregnancy had been the last straw, Katya couldn't simply survive through this hell, she already knew. She'd already seen this story play out.

Losing the battle with her tears, she clutched the little phone in her hands tightly, turned her back, and cried for the absolution that was never going to come again.

* * *

His research wasn't going well, and it didn't look like it would go anywhere better in the near future either. Holly was still lost, and the woman still was a ghost. Alex stood up from his seat in his study and walked toward the window. Gotham was a big city, and even for someone like him it was hard to find people on short notice, the simultaneous surveillance people saw in the movies worked only in the movies. There were countless other difficulties. With a last glance at the city, he paced back to his desk, and on a sudden bolt of rage swept everything on the surface to the floor.

He looked at the scattered pieces; the sheets, photographs, reports…but nothing even remotely related to the woman in the cat suit. Drawing a sharp breath, he picked up one—the only photo of her the cameras around Cartier had managed to catch.

It'd probably be said because of his line of business Alex had lost the ability to be impressed by beauty. But aside from pricking his business related interests, the woman on the photo had also picked up his other…manly interests.

It wasn't every day a man could see a very attractive woman clad in a skin tight cat suit, running around the streets, blowing up buildings, and rescuing little bitches. And the kicks she had thrown at him still gave him a ghostly pain; the already dulled chafe from her Taser gun still tingled.

As reckless as she was, she'd beat him. Him—Alex—the closest man to Andrei Churichov, the right hand of the Warrior, had been beat by a woman. Aside from the apparent frustrations this fact had raised—along with Andrei's amused but silent non-verbal remarks, and Dahlia's amused contempt—Alex couldn't help but find it a little bit enthrallingly…enticing.

Damn her… The next time he saw her, he was going to make the bitch very, very, very sorry for all the troubles she had caused him.

At the moment he was making his oath, Dahlia walked into his office. He barely held himself from growling out a heated 'knock on the door'. If he himself was the knight to the king, Dahlia was certainly the queen, and their queen knocked on none but Andrei's door.

He repressed another urge to grit his teeth as she gave a curious glance at the floor. She lifted her head, one eyebrow arched with her usual amused contempt.

"Bad day is it?" she asked then went on before he could reply, "And it appears it will only get worse. Mr. Linkmen called, says his phone got lost last night. Gather up your men, I'm starting a search."

All the thoughts—all the curious musing about that woman came to a definite halt, as he nodded curtly. "If it's Katya—"

She shook her head. "If it's her—"His phone rang. He looked at the screen, frowned and lifted his head up at Dahlia. "It's Gabriel—" She frowned too as he answered, "Yes?" He paused a second, "WHEN?"

Growling, he closed the phone, already running to the door. "Warn Andrei, we're being raided in two hours. I'm gathering up the men."

They walked out of the room and ran their separate ways. If it was Katya…if it was Katya…he pulled his hands into fists…it was just business.

Four years ago…four years ago, he had made his decision, had made his own bed, and there was no turning back.

_The man he'd been watching for days, Andrei, was looking at him, without blinking, without flinching, eyes—one natural, the other artificial—fixed on him, his gaze unwavering. He told himself to look back, straight, not to turn his eyes away, look straight back at him._

"_Let's have a talk, little man." Andrei tilted his head back at his men. "Bring him somewhere quieter."_

_They escorted him to the basement level… to the sauna… and he turned to the men, arched one eyebrow. They shoved him in. Without a word he went to the lowest seat, and sat. Half a moment later, Andrei walked in._

_He took the jacket of his neat suit off, and threw it away. "Now, I have problem," he said, voice even and hard, but with a controlled intensity that was entirely natural to him, "With you," he continued, yanking his tie off._

_He looked back at him, still meeting his eyes. "We could have talked in the lobby, it's cooler."_

_Andrei shook his head. "When I have a problem, I come here."_

"_With someone?"_

_He nodded, the corner of his mouth slightly, faintly titling up, "Always with someone." He paused for a tiniest second. "Mostly I walk out alone." He walked towards him and sat down. "I like this place. It's soundproof, stain-resistant, and—the hygiene is very good too." He dipped his hands inside the bowl next to the coal setting, washed them, and took the towel beside it. "I come here to give up my excesses." He settled the towel between them, bowed his head. He lifted his hand toward his eye then he popped the blue glassy artificial sphere out. He placed it down on the towel then pivoted his body to him, looked at him with one full and one empty eye socket. "Now if you turn your eyes away, I realize that you're lying."_

"_Why are you suspicious of me?"_

"_Your breath, your walk, your hands," he replied evenly. "Your breath is much too serene, your walk is much too placid, your hands are much too still."_

"_I—I'm—I'm just like that." _

"_Wild animals are like that." Andrei shook his head. "And wild animals trouble me, because if they enter your territory, it's not for companionship." He paused for a moment. "I look for a man, and where ever I look, instead of him, I find you. If you don't give me a good reason right now, I will do to you the thing that I do to the wild animals that enter in my territory."_

"_I—" He stopped, passed his hand over his forehead to wipe the beads of sweat accumulating there, then leaned forward too, his gaze still fixed on his eyes, not wavering. "I watch you, boss." Andrei didn't correct his usage of the word, didn't say he wasn't his boss._

_Instead his fingers moved up toward his shirt's first buttons, and he opened them, his gaze unflinching. "Why?"_

"_To learn," he replied without missing a beat._

"_To learn what?"_

"_What kind of a man you are."_

"_Why?"_

"_To be like you," he answered acutely. "Everyone knows you around here, boss. Everyone respects, everyone fears. I want to be your man, to be inside, to be like you."_

_Andrei slowly tilted his head aside, leaning on the upper seat of the sauna. "What did you learn?"_

"_You came from the Ukraine with your family, they died when you're nine, then you grew up on the streets. You were the underling of the big bosses then one day you took down one of them, and took his place with the council's blessing, and took Molten." _

_Andrei finally moved his eyes. "What do I do here?"_

"_Sex trafficking."_

_He rested his arms on the upper seat. "I carry guns?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Have I killed men?"_

"_You have."_

"_Have I raped?"_

"_You have."_

"_Have I betrayed? Have I tortured?"_

"_You have, all you have."_

"_Why?" He asked then, leaning even further, and his eyes—one full, one empty—found his again. "Because I am a psychopath?"_

"_No."_

"_Then because my family was poor? Because I was an orphan? Because people were bad to me, because they beat me?" He paused for a second. "Because I was doomed from birth?"_

_He shook his head. "No… Because of something you've had since the beginning. Hunger…a hunger that can be satisfied by no women, no money, by nothing." The same hunger he felt._

_The corner of Andrei's mouth tilted up, slowly, as he faintly laughed. "I gave my eye to the man I took down but not just the eye. He trusted me, like a son. And I killed him, shot him in the back of his head. But it was nothing personal."_

"_No, it was just business."_

_Andrei stood up. "Tomorrow," he threw him a car key, "be here at seven, sharp. I don't like lazy people." He walked out, with the same controlled aggression, the same intensity, the same hazard. _

_He twirled the key around his fingers, and shoved it into his pants before walking out himself. He knew then… someday, to be like him, he was going to have to kill Andrei. But it was nothing personal, it was just business._

* * *

Clad only in her short robe, Valerie entered into the bedroom she had left fifteen minutes ago, the vitamin fix in her hands. Bruce had already started his push-ups. She smiled, set the glass on the dressing table, and hopped on it. She watched the excessively splendid scene, remembering the first time she'd seen him doing his exercise. Her smile grew wider as something in her chest grew tighter and she felt her drumming heart might explode with happiness at any second. It was odd, feeling this good—this happy—like she was on some sort of ecstasy. Then a thought hit her. Her eyes lit, she caught her phone and started searching the internet.

A few minutes later her happy smile grew into a wolfish grin. She hopped down, and walked toward him. She threw her slippers off, and slipped under him. She spread her legs to accommodate them to each side of his hips as Bruce wailed, "_Valerie!_"

She grinned further. "Don't let me interrupt you, darling, please do continue." He did, rising up and coming down above her, his hands braced on either side of her head, his eyes riveted on her. "I just wanted to show you something. I think we need to expand your repertoire a little bit further." She showed him the phone. "How about this?" She brushed her finger over the screen. "Or this?" She tilted her head down to look at the screen where two 3D models acted out something depicted as the Monkey Bar. "I admit, it looks like somewhat ridiculous but the other—"A very original twist to the usual reverse push-ups named the Big Dipper. "—looks like pure fun." She brushed her finger again to bring the image back. "—Don't you agree?"

Bruce's eyes darkened as he pulled up, hovering over her body, his gaze fixed on the screen. Then he shook his head. She laughed again. "Don't say I didn't do anything for you, darling."

"I would—" he breathed, coming down, his chest momentarily pressed against her, then he rose up, "never."

Valerie smiled as he came down again. "So—are you up for a test drive?"

In answer, he just rose up on one hand and opened her robe's belt with the other one.

* * *

Georgina looked at the view of Gotham, feeling bored.

Derrick was buried under some reports like usual these days. This morning when she had woken up, she had felt bad, even though she wasn't sure of why or what, and by the noon the inane bad feeling had become worse.

Before Derrick had used to check over her, giving her little smiles whenever he was working. He liked having her around, he liked her company. Yesterday, he'd sent her away, saying she was too distracting.

She had always been distracting before—_always_. Was it possible that the love he had for her was diminishing now? She had never been able to depict her own feelings for Derrick for sure, but she had been always sure about his feelings. He was in love with her, madly. No sane person would have done what he had done for her, without expecting anything in return if he wasn't fiercely in love—mostly possessive, crazily protective, but nevertheless in love.

Sometimes she felt like she was like the moon, and the feelings in her were simply a reflection; she was simply reflecting the love he felt for her back to him—like the moon reflecting the sunlight. But if his love was diminishing then what would happen to her?

She felt furious—she missed the days only she was enough for him, only the love for her was enough for him. That was because of those men, those people couldn't even talk properly, their stupid accents grating over her ear.

Or was she over reading things? Perhaps he was just seeing another woman? Was he looking at another woman as he had looked at her? With the same glint in his eyes?

She grimaced, stood up, walked around his chair and sat on his lap. "Honey, you've been working since this morning."

He lifted his head up, caressed her hair, and smiled. Nope—not another woman—never another woman—he was still in love with her and she was still reflecting—so much…

_He was sitting on a bench in Robinson Park, looking across Main Street. He looked up at her, and smiled. "It's the busiest street of the city," he said as if to explain, "I like sitting here and watching the city trot up and down. Will you sit with me, Georgina?" _

_She hadn't, not quite understanding what he was—saying—asking. So instead she asked about what he'd said on the phone that morning before calling her to the park. "You talked to the boss?"_

"_I talked with someone called Andrei," he answered._

_She blinked, once, then twice. "He's—he's the boss's second man."_

"_Not anymore," he said with a half shrug. "Things are happening there. Andrei killed his boss last night. And he lost an eye in return."_

_She looked at him shocked. Volodimir was gone? And by none else than Andrei…but they were, they were like father and son. "We came to an agreement," he continued. "You don't have to go back there. Molten isn't a secure place anymore anyway. Andrei has plans for it. I'll pay your debts."_

"_Will you?"_

"_Yes."_

_She shook her head. "I—thanks for the offer, but you—you don't have to… Last night, when I said those—I wasn't trying—I just talked—I thought you were genuinely interested—"_

"_I'm genuinely interested, Gi." Startled, she stared at him. Her nickname. It had been long, so long since she'd heard it the last. No one called her Gi anymore, no one. She was simply Georgina now, the run-away lap dancer, neck deep in sharks Georgina. She kept looking at him, trying to understand. She still couldn't. "You don't have to," she said at last._

"_Yes," he agreed. "I don't."_

_She frowned. "What do you want in return then?"_

_He looked back at her, smiled, and patted the spot next to him on the bench, "Just stay."_

_Slowly she walked toward the bench then, sat down and stayed. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, he talked, soft and gentle, always with a small but soft smile on his lips, he talked, and in the middle of it, she found herself playing with the fingers of the hand draped over her shoulder._

_They stayed on the bench until the sun settled, and when the night came, they returned to his flat._

_She never left his side again._

* * *

"You don't need to wear those heels all the time, you know," Bruce said conversationally, rubbing the sole of her left foot.

"Bruce," she drawled from her perch on the desk in front of his office chair. "You certainly didn't mean that."

"You are the one who said your feet are killing you. I just made an offer."

"Hmphf…why bother with a boyfriend if I can't even get a free massage?" She paused to give him a saucy wink while Bruce scowled at her. "Besides, some might even think of it as a reward." She wiggled the toes of her other foot on his lap for emphasis.

Bruce scowled harder pushing it away. "Behave."

She laughed out, "Never."

He pinched her foot, she hopped, and exclaimed. "Bruce!"

He grinned. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to pull her foot back but Bruce held on it. She kicked his stomach with other one. He pinched the one he was still holding harder. "_Behave._ We're not at home."

She sent him a seething look but asked in a mockingly sweet tone, "Chicken out again?" Bruce didn't respond but when she did try to break his grip on her ankle he didn't try to stop her either. She dropped her legs down and threw one of the folders she had brought into his lap.

Bruce opened it, and went through its contents. "Liquid Heart?" he asked without lifting his head.

"A hallucinogenic drug that induces nightmarish images and fake candies are on the loose," she informed him evenly. "We'll need to make regular surveys. I say some undercover work is in order."

Bruce lifted her head up. "Valerie, if you want to go to a night club, you can ask me."

She looked at him then nodded. "Take me out dancing."

"That sounded more like an order."

"You order me all the time."

"Valerie—"

"Bruce—"She cut him off. "My dear good boyfriend, will you be so kind to take your girlfriend out to dance this weekend?"

"Of course, my dear good girlfriend," he answered with the same exaggerated tone.

"You're so gentle."

He sighed. One thing was certain. Whenever he wasn't fucking her senseless, Valerie still made him as frustrated as ever. Sighing again, he pulled out the first drawer of his desk and threw a blank social security card and application form at her.

She looked at it. "They've been sitting in my drawer for a time. Did you make up your mind?"

She lifted a shoulder in a carefree gesture. "It's so hard to decide on a good surname these days."

"I thought you like West enough. Valerie West. It does really have a ring to it."

She shrugged again. "Yeah."

"Valerie—"

"I'll decide, don't pester me." She threw him the second folder. "I'll start digging into Richard's phone conversations tonight but while waiting to meet with Georgina, I finished digging into Derrick." Bruce picked up the folder and opened it.

"Why do you want to wait till next Friday, why don't you find another spot?" Bruce asked, his eyes fixed on the reports.

Valerie shook her head. "Bruce, you've certainly never been in a hairdresser ambience before if you ask me that. Those chairs are women-bonding places. People talk about their personal life like you wouldn't believe. And Georgina is just the right type, believe me. After next Friday, we will have learned everything about Derrick ,from the last flu he had, to how much sugar he likes in his coffee, to his favorite sex position—"

He lifted his head. "I don't want to know about his preferences in bed—"

"I do," she interrupted and got a glare in return.

Bruce continued evenly, "I want to know the source of his money."

"His racketeering is like a secret that everyone pretends not to know, but apart from a few complaints that never made to any prosecution he's clean as a baby, though in these cases, it's always useful to remember that the Anti-Christ will also come to this world as a baby. But the reports indicate that these days he's playing with a Ukrainian warmonger—an old man in the market that's selling some old souvenirs remaining from the old days."

Bruce nodded. "Tavian Vorczka."

"Yep," she confirmed. "You know, the usual; you scratch my back, I scratch yours. But what seems interesting about this Malkin guy is...they seem to—I don't know—like him, for real. It's not an intimidation, or fear, I'm talking about. His minions—they are loyal…and everyone says that he's protective of them as well."

Bruce nodded again. "A few months ago, the goons from the Irish and the Russians beat some of his men, badly, and Derrick found all of the participating thugs and beat every single of them to a pulp, personally, regardless of the fury of the Irish and Russians, and despite the fact that he considers a partnership with the former one."

"Does he?" She frowned. "That wasn't in the reports."

"No. I had it from—other resources."

"Ah," she said and nodded. "Well, we'll need to put him under surveillance in any case."

He scowled, gazing at a police report. "Yes. I plan to give him a visit tonight."

"Excellent. And I was thinking while I wait to meet with Georgina it wouldn't be bad to make his acquaintance too."

Bruce snapped the folder closes, and looked at her hard. "No."

Valerie nodded. "Okay." Bruce scowled. Stepping down from a fight this quickly and easily… She would never… Unless… He gave her a look. She leaned forward. "I'll sit this one out, but you'll let me come with you to Arkham. Deal?"

"No. There will be no deals on those regards." He leaned forward too. "And don't give me improbable offers to get a deal out of me. You're not coming with me."

Her face twisting in anger, she leaned even further and spat at his face, "You're a fool if you think—"

"Then you're in love with a fool," he interrupted. "Who's more of a fool in this case?"

Her anger rose up even more, and her face twisted even further, but the next second she looked at him blankly, blinked twice, then burst into laughter. "Is that a Star Wars reference?" she asked confused, still laughing. Bruce looked back at her. She laughed harder. "Oh, Bruce, I can't believe you've made a Star Wars reference." She threw herself at him, and fit herself on his lap. Her arms curled around his neck. "Some exquisite, sophisticated billionaire you are."

Despite the situation, Bruce faintly laughed back, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Well, exquisite and sophisticated wouldn't be the first words the most people would choose to associate with Bruce Wayne." She laughed again. "Valerie, do you understand we'd been having a discussion just seconds ago?"

"Ugh, we can always fight later." She brushed away his attempt to pull the conversation back on the topic, and he let her because the result wouldn't change. She wasn't going anywhere near Arkham, not in a million years, never, he would never let her set a foot inside that building, no matter what kind of manipulation skills she used he would never cave in. She would never be in the same place with _him_, never.

But her eyes gleaming feverishly with desire, Valerie looked like she'd already forgotten all about it. "Not a fight, just discussion," he said absently.

"I know a fight when I see one, darling," she answered, her expression turning to leery, her voice full of husk. She bowed her head to rest her forehead on his. "So how about making up now?"

He drew a deep breath in, shook his head, and holding her waist he set her back on the desk. "Behave," he warned once again.

She held the sides of the desk, and leaned forward. "There is a little miraculous invention called a lock, you know. We can lock the door."

"Brilliant idea."

"Better than yours, and certainly much more fun too."

"Valerie, I'm not going to have all of Wayne Tower gossiping behind us just because we can't restrain our urges."

She cocked her eyebrow up as a suggestive smile blossomed on her lips. "Restraints? Hmm… someone's getting kinky again—"

"Valerie—"

"Oh, Bruce," she exclaimed with delight, cutting him off with a laugh. "You don't need to worry about that. People _already_ talk behind your back that you use your office for nothing but sleeping and fucking every poor female who sets a foot inside."

"Oh."

She laughed again. "My, _why_ did you think I was pissed that tart had seen your office while I had not? I told you, I take that kind of thing very personal."

"Oh," Bruce said again.

She smiled arrogantly then hopped down on his lap once again. "So, darling—"she drawled in content, "Since your worries are needless, shall we make the best of our fight?"

Bruce shook his head. "So single minded."

"Don't you adore it," she rubbed herself over his hardness to prove her point.

He hissed and pushed her on his knees. "For the sake of my sanity woman can't you just behave for once?"

She sighed in defeat, reached back on the desk, and pressed the intercom. "Jennifer," she called in.

"Yes, Ms. Valerie?"

"Can you please arrange someone to soundproof these walls first thing tomorrow morning?"

Bruce shook his head. "Err—"Jennifer said then stayed silent before she asked evenly, "Mr. Wayne—?"

"Do it, Jenny," he confirmed.

* * *

Crouching between his knees, she put the gauze on his wound, wrapped the bandage over his stomach, and kissed the bandage. Bruce lifted her head up to give her a quick kiss back. She smiled against his lips. "Be careful, okay?"

He smiled back and stood up. "I will," he replied as she sat at her station next to Alfred. Every Friday night Derrick and his two minions were going to play poker somewhere in the upper west side of the city and Bruce had decided to seize the opportunity.

He closed on in them. "Alfred, you take the dots tonight," he ordered to the older man before turning to Valerie. "Valerie, you're on security cameras. I want to know every movement around the block."

She nodded. "Sure thing."

Nodding back, he walked into the closet to change. When he emerged, he was already in full Batman mode; armored, cowled, painted, his jaw clenched determinately, his gaze aflame; the fury, the rage that always boiled just underneath his carefully culminated serenity ready to strike. There were two things for certain. His sweetest darling was still an enigma as much as the first day, and even sex wasn't enough to wind down Batman. She sighed, then hopped down and leaped on his side. She circled her arms around his neck. "Batboy, you seem tense. Would you like your favorite accomplice to calm you down a little bit?"

"Valerie—"Bruce grated in a warning tone.

"Go… and come back soon—" Smiling, she rose on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear. "I'll be waiting."

Perched on the rooftop next to his target's house, Bruce decided things didn't look good. Derrick Malkin had decided to play hardball. He had come here after he had discovered the security in the residence had been updated to one that he didn't have the necessary tools to break into without drawing any attention. And he didn't want to draw any attention. He preferred his objectives didn't even know that he was after them at this stage of the game.

People, especially the kind like Derrick, became more suspicious and paranoid when they were positive that they were being watched, and even though Bruce knew paranoia was a good thing to possess in their line of business, he never liked it when he saw it in his opponents.

He checked his watch, and tried to come up with a plan. Tonight he'd done the reconnaissance. The next time he would take the necessary precautions to avoiding going back empty handed in the face of irritating surprises. But that also meant he had to wait another week, these poker games were the best opportunity for a clean infiltration, but waiting for a whole week wasn't really something he wanted. If the guards' attention was distracted for a couple of minutes, he could concentrate on the security systems better, and he was sure he could outrun them. He called in. "Valerie, check the whole neighborhood. Are there any disturbances?"

He heard the sound of clicking keys before she answered. "Negative."

Then he would need to create one personally… "You're looking for a distraction," Valerie remarked.

"Yes," he said simply.

He heard her hop down... "Okay, I've got this one."

_Not again!_ "Valerie!" he hissed out sternly, "Sit back on that chair, NOW!"

"Sorry—a little radio malfunction, can't hear. Rendezvous point, Bay Ave. in fifteen minutes." Then she severed the connection. He growled—growled his chest out. This was becoming too much of a regular occurrence. "Alfred?" he barked.

"She's already gone, sir."

Twenty minutes later, he saw the familiar Ducati approaching. He jumped down from his perch. By the time she took her helmet off he was already at her side. "You're going back, now." He rasped, his jaw clenched so hard he barely managed to utter the words.

She didn't bother with an answer, instead turned aside to take a whiskey bottle out from the back trunk of the bike. She tipped the bottle up, gulped twice then spit the rest of the drink down on the pavement. Bruce glowered at her, very hard. She opened her palm, poured some of the liquid in her hands, and splashed it over her neck.

"_What_ are you doing?" he asked, snapping the bottle from her fingers.

"Your knife, please," she said. His eyes bore through hers. She shook her head. "Never mind." She hopped off the bike, crouched down beside his legs, and grabbed the knife inside his left boot. She stood up, and started cutting her white tee shirt under her breasts—

"_Valerie, what the hell are you doing?_"

"Why, cutting my top, of course. What does it look like?"

"Mind telling me why?"

"Because I need to look like a slut." She turned around. "Cut the back—"She looked at him over her shoulder. "Darling, don't worry, it's hardly expensive."

With one swift motion Bruce took the knife, tucked it into his boot, grabbed her wrist and started to drag her back. With a sudden move, she stabbed her heel into his foot and raised her knee between the plates at his groin, one of the weak points of his armor. Bruce drew in a silent breath as she pulled herself free and ran toward the entrance of the street.

"_Valerie!_" he hissed after her. Dutifully, Bruce chased after her but the distance was too short to catch her before she emerged out onto the street. She turned back then, and shot at him a mocking smile, tying the rest of her tee shirt into a knot.

Bruce glowered at her back. She held his stare, took little steps backward facing him, opening the first two buttons of her jeans in the meanwhile. She lowered the waistband further over her hips, and pulled the sides of her thong up. Then she threw a piece of gum in her mouth.

With visible nipples even from the distance, with her toned navel was open to admiration, with the thong that left almost nothing to the imagination, her mouth chewing the gum sultrily, Bruce had to admit one thing, albeit reluctantly; she'd made her point.

Bruce took the grapple gun. Gathering his intention Valerie hastily turned and fled again. Stopping her in such a manner while she ran like mad surely would cause serious injuries. Hissing in anger, he tucked his grapple gun back in and followed her. By the time he'd made it to the entrance she was already at the end of the next alley, the one behind the Derrick residence, and before he could pull her back into the shadows, she picked up a stone from the pavement. She threw it at the house she was in front of.

"Huh," Bruce mumbled out with a very unlike-Batman choice of word, and watched as the window shattered. Valerie started to scream at the top of her lungs.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU THINK YOU COULD GET RID OF ME THIS EASILY, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! GET OUT!" She swayed, bent down and picked up another big stone. She hit the first floor this time. "DO I LOOK LIKE YOUR FUCKING WIFE?"

Her words were muffled under the familiar sound of static and Bruce realized that she'd opened up their link again as another stone smashed another window. People started coming out, and someone yelled from another open window— "Someone could call police, there's a lunatic bitch down—"

Bruce clenched his lips as another woman's voice asked, "Is that Morrison again? That's twice this month. Angela is gonna be very pissed."

"Valerie, stop it right now." Instead of answering him, she continued yelling, and broke the third window.

"ARRGGGHH! COME DOWN, YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! COME DOWN, AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN! YOU CAN'T WASH YOUR HANDS OFF ME! I SAID COME DOWN."

"Valerie," he hissed, "I said _stop_!"

A man emerged out from the house in his pajamas, looking dumbfounded, "WHO THE HELL—"Valerie didn't let him finish his words. She ran toward him, and swung a fist at his nose.

Bruce decided to lock her up into the bedroom the next time he was out. The man hissed out between his teeth and hit her back. His jaw clenched upon seeing her swaying on her legs, this time for real, before she fell down. When she cast a look toward his direction, he saw the corner of her mouth was bleeding thinly.

"I'm coming for you."

"No," she whispered, climbing to her feet. "I've got everything under control. Go and do your job."

Bruce seethed and started to evaluate the situation. The people that had gathered were no visible threat. He could break in the middle of them easily, get her out and take both of them to the nearest rooftop in the blink of an eye…then a woman came out of the same house, screaming, "MORRISON. WHO THE HELL IS THAT BITCH?" Seizing the opportunity, Valerie closed on in the man again, fisting her hands as another man from the crowd caught her at her hair and yanked her back.

Just as Bruce started to emerge from shadows to stop the hilarity, he saw Derrick Malkin's men walking toward them. Meanwhile, Valerie turned around, and kicked the man pulling her hair in the balls. "Valerie, that's enough, you played enough—"

She turned to Morrison and cried out, "YOU'RE NOT MY JACK!"

There was a stunned silence over the gathered crowd, then she yelled, "I'M GONNA KILL THAT CAB DRIVER!" She spun on her heel and walked away toward the Derrick's men but Morrison caught her at the elbow and swung her around. "You can't just go like this, bitch. Tell my wife I didn't fuck you, ever, or else—"

"Phew, _please_, of course I wouldn't fuck anyone like you," Valerie sputtered, her hand waving toward him, trying to roll her eyes. Derrick's guards laughed. She turned aside, and winked at them with a half-smile. One of them smiled back at her, and the other winked, and Bruce knew as ridiculous as it was, she had taken control of the situation. He barred his teeth with anger.

She turned toward his direction, and gave the shadows a look that said 'get down on the business.'

"I need ten minutes," Bruce hissed. "If you're still here after that, I'm coming to get you out."

Bruce saw her slight nod and then he got down to business. He took another alley around, and slipped into Derrick's residence.

"Why did you hit him?" he heard a woman —he presumed, Mrs. Morrison— asking over the wireless.

"Thought he was my Jack. That motherfucker said this house—"There was a pause, "was the address I gave him—Aiiiii—"she cried out drunkenly then gasped breathlessly, "Thank you."

"Watch your step—"said a man with a deep voice. Without needing to see it, Bruce knew she had started working on the bodyguards.

"Sooo sorry to disturb you."

"Where do you think you're going?" Morrison asked.

"Home—you're evidently not my Jack."

"You broke half of my windows, you drunk-ass miserable bitch. You can't go anywhere before paying me first."

Bruce sighed as his work finished and the alarm turned off and let him inside. He started to climb to the floor where Derrick's study was, and raised his thermal camera up to get visuals.

"But I don't have money," she panted petulantly, "That fucking idiot took all of my money—"

"I don't care—you can't go anywhere—"

"Morrison, leave her alone—"said the man with deep voice, then another one accompanied him. "Look at the poor thing. It's obvious that she's had a very bad night."

"Worse than mine? I woke up in the middle of my night by a drunk-ass lunatic, accused of adultery, and punched in the nose."

"You hit me too!"

"You hit me first," Morrison seethed, "I'm calling the police."

"But—but—"Valerie mumbled breathlessly and Bruce halted momentarily as he pulled out the power plugs to place bugs inside. "I'm locking you into the bedroom next—"He ranted as he walked out of the room to get her out. Then the first deep voice said, "Morrison, cut it off. How much does it cost? I'm gonna pay it."

Brue stopped and tried not to think of what kind of looks she had had to give the man to achieve that kind of generosity. He turned back to place the bugs. There was a discussion over the costs, before the man agreed to find him after he got the repairs done. Then Valerie's voice panted gratefully, "_Thank you_. You're my hero."

If it had been another time, Bruce would have certainly rolled his eyes. "Come, let's fix you a cup of coffee," the man said, "You seem like you need it." He heard footsteps—soft clinking of heels along Valerie's drunken ramblings.

"I can't understand why these things keep happening to me. Look, I'm not always this crazy—"

"I don't understand how anyone could upset a pretty girl like you," the man said as Bruce's hands halted, and he hissed out. "Valerie, he's not groping you, is he?"

"Nope," she said. "I can't understand it either."

Bruce heard a clicking of a door. "Are you on the first floor in the security room? For yes, cough once." She half coughed. Bruce closed his eyes for a second. "What'd that fool do, babe?" the other man asked, the sounds carrying a slight echo.

"He gave his wife a diamond ring!" Valerie exclaimed. "Can you imagine?"

"No," both of them answered laughing.

"He promised me!" Her voice rose. "He said 'I''ll give you a ring, sugar,' then he gave it to his wife! Am I not right, boys, huh, ain't I right? Don't I deserve one? I'm the one who does _all_ the things he asks, but when it comes to diamonds, the wife gets it." She paused then cried out. "Life is so unfair."

Both men laughed again and Bruce tried to tune out the conversation but his hands faltered when he heard Valerie saying, "I mean look at me—_these_—and _these—_aren't they worth a stupid piece of rock?"

His jaw clenched until it throbbed with pain. "Valerie, you're not showing them the body parts I think you are, are you?"

"Momma always used to say I've got just the right kind of hips—and men could kill each other happily for my tits."

"Valerie, I'm going to kill you."

"Boys—"She breathed out roughly then stopped. "I feel sick," her voice twisted, "I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Not here—"There was a sudden flurry of sound, "use the bathroom."

A door closed then she directly whispered. "How long?"

"We're going to have a very long talk, Valerie, when returned home," Bruce hissed.

"Yes, yes, yes—"She replied dismissively. "In case haven't noticed, we're getting very _friendly_ here. How long?"

He seethed. "Two minutes. Stay in the bathroom, start howling."

This time she listened, and started to make heaving noises. Two minutes later, he rasped out, "I'm done. Can you get rid them by yourself?"

"Darling, this is not my first barbecue party. Just call me in a minute okay?"

"Vale—"

"Just call me, Bruce. I already have a plan."

She opened the door. "Are you feeling better?" One of the guards asked.

"Yeah—"She paused. "Do you live here?"

"No—we work here—"

"There's so many screens—"she panted, "Do you always watch these?"

"Yes."

"Do you tape here too?"

"No," the deep voice answered as Bruce finished up with the bugs. He called her as she had instructed. "What!" she barked out in answer.

"I'm leaving the study from the roof, meet me on Bay Ave. I'm sending you out first."

"What—?" she exclaimed, "Did you buy a ring for me too?"

"Get the hell out of there."

"What?" She exclaimed again, "It's even bigger than that skank's—" She giggled. "Of course, I'm coming. Where are you?" She paused, then gasped, and then went on. "_WHAT_…what do you mean you're already here? Oh, iLocalis?" She laughed. "I always forget it. Ok, darling, I'm coming out."

She closed the phone. Bruce shook his head, grunting. "Boys—what a sweet boy he is, don't you agree? He _tracked_ me down to give me my ring." She laughed again with delight. "Sorry to bother you with my silly problems guys. Thanks again for the help over there. Bring me a pen, please, will you?" There was a pause. "Oh…you have such a nice palm, hmm…fetch me another pen, this doesn't work—All right, now, this is my number, call me when the repairs are done and I'll pay you guys back."

He heard her open the door and listened to her footsteps as she ran. "I'm out."

"What number did you give them?"

"One of the untraceable ones you stashed for emergencies. If I gave them something bogus, they would get suspicious when there is no answer."

"Are you sure they're going to call you back?"

"Bruce—"She laughed aloud. "Of course, they are. These fine body parts really are worth a try."

"Funny. iLocalis?" he questioned further.

"Told you I have a plan, darling." Then he saw her running toward him, her flushed face split in two with a wide smile. She threw herself at him. "Missed me, gorgeous?"

He pushed her back, and pulled her still open jeans up to fasten her buttons. "Not quite the reaction I usually get from men."

"Behave," he ordered sternly. "You've misbehaved a lot tonight."

"Bruce—"she whined as he pushed the visible parts of her thong back inside.

"If you do something like this again, I'll tie you up each night."

Her eyes widened with feigned incredulity, "_Really?_"

He pulled the biggest button at the top roughly, and fastened it. "Really."

Swaying on her legs with the force of his move, she rolled her eyes. "Bruce, I just saved your ass over there and this is the thanks I get? Where is my 'thank you, Valerie, you've have been a great help.' Where is my 'thanks baby, what would I do without you'?"

He took her helmet from the bike, and pushed it down on her head. "Return to the manor now. You'll hear my thanks at great length then."

x

She heard it, at great length, but only with half of an ear, and when he started pacing around the bedroom, wearing only his pajama bottoms, his hair wet from the shower he had just taken, she lost that half ear too.

There was something fundamentally hot about seeing him like this; frustrated, pacing up and down, his strong legs carrying him with a controlled aggression; danger, and power, something crazy manly radiating off of him, and Valerie couldn't do anything but gape at him as he rambled. Jesus, how she wished to just be under him, squirming, thrashing; his weight on her, as he channeled all that negative energy out of him in very particular, special, delightful ways. She gulped, her tongue popped out to moisten her lips, getting incredibly wet just with the fantasy—then she noticed Bruce's scowl fixed on her... "Valerie—_VALERIE!_—are you even listening to me?"

She clicked her tongue, and gave him an apologetic smile. "No."

He closed on in her, looked directly at her eyes, the hazel darkening with frustration. "Valerie, are you not yet bored with pushing my damn buttons?"

Her eyes skipped down, toward his pajama bottoms, over the buttons flashing at her seductively, and giving in temptation she put her forefinger on the first, and pushed a little, "I could always shove."

"You could only try," he hissed out, voice carrying the familiar edge in a way to say that if she pushed enough, he would push even harder. So she shoved. He caught her wrist. "Stop it. I'm trying to have a talk with you here. And—"He waved his other hand towards her ruined top. "For god sake, take that thing off!"

Valerie obliged happily, and smiled again. "Better?"

He sent her glare, "Put something on."

"You're not, you're naked too."

"I'm a man."

Her lips curled down. "That's very sexist, you know."

He gave her another look. "You can't act like this now, Valerie. You have to stop fooling around—"

She arched one eyebrow up in question, eyes twinkling in amusement. "Fooling around?"

He grabbed her upper arms. "This is not a game. What if they called the police tonight? You don't even carry ID! You have to stop endangering us!"

Her eyes widened. "Me endangering us? Bruce, how many times have you endangered us because you're so insistent on playing the stupid hero? Every single night."

"Valerie—"the edgy warning was clear in the single mention of her name. "I said it's not open to the discussion."

"And I said it will."

He looked at her, hard, then turned on his heel to leave the room. Valerie sprung after him, and caught him at the door before he could open it. She spun around him to face him. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Bruce, I'm not trying to—shove you." Her hand touched his upper arm gently. "I just don't think you should carry this burden."

His face softened as his hand caressed her cheek. "Valerie, I can carry it. I can endure it."

She shook her head agitated, pushed his hand away. "_You-don't-have-to." _Her finger poked his bare chest with each word. "People need to be shaken up for good and come back to their senses. Heroes don't exist."

"I've never said they do," he admitted with a weary voice. "But this is not about me, this is about them. It's about what they need."

"I'll tell you what they need. They need to stop being stupid, and come back down to earth."

"They need to believe in something."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked back. "You don't have to believe in some wishful hero-fantasy to know what's right and what's wrong. What Harvey Dent did was wrong, so were the things that had been done by the people he put away. There is no need to compare apples to oranges. This shouldn't turn into a reverse scapegoat example."

"You know that's not how it works out there."

She rolled her eyes, huffed, and shoved him at his shoulder. "Don't be a victim of the people's stupidity and ignorance."

He scowled down. "Hey, you said no shoving—"

"Frankly, you're being downright dramatic again."

"Thank god you're above all that," he murmured before grabbing her hand.

"Well, I'm a certified attention freak," she lifted her shoulders. "It's expected of me, which reminds me—" She halted for a second to smile at him. She caught his hand, her lips bearing a suggestive smile now, her frustration seemingly suddenly forgotten. She brought his hand over her breast. "I seem not to be gaining enough attention these days. Do you think we should get me a boob job—"

Bruce blinked twice, "Huh?"

"Cathleen never said I have tits that men could happily kill each other for, even though she mentioned once or twice that I have just the right kind of hips."

He did blink once again then said causally, "I'm not sure she meant it the way you understood it."

Her smile grew wider. "What way do you think I understood?"

"The dirty way," he shot back and caressed her nipple. "And no, your tits are just fine, and I could happily die for them." He brushed his fingertips again. "Happy?"

"Not yet," she pressed herself further on his hand. "Prove it."

Then he did, oh god, then he did.

* * *

Her phone squalled in the middle of the night while she was still waiting for Derrick, gazing at the nightscape, trying to suppress her ill thoughts… Not Derrick, no, everyone else but not her Derrick… "Hello?"

"Georgina—"Her name was a hushed whisper and the voice made her breath catch.

Georgina waited for a second that seemed like an eternity, then whispered back, "Elena—?"

"Georgina, please—help me."

* * *

_A/N: I didn't make up these sex positions names. They are from sexinfo101 website :)_

_Valerie's 'slut act' actually is a scene from Burn Notice, I just expanded it further. Fiona just smashed the windows to create a scene in the show._


	5. Open Thou Mine Eyes

_A/N: With this, the first part of the Settlement Arc closes. And Bruce Wayne says 'I love you' in the most ridiculous way, if you ask me :)_

_I'd be glad if you drop a review._

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Four: Open Thou Mine Eyes**

* * *

"Filthy—"Valerie exclaimed, throwing the crime scene photos of the body of Richard Tomah that Bruce had found a month and half ago. She bent forward on Bruce's lap to pick up the dealer's phone records for the last three months prior to his death.

"All right, here the phone records. There were some extended time periods I'd highlighted before, so I started with those first—and guess what?" she asked laughing. "Our late Richard was into phone sex, seriously, I mean, like almost every night for hours. Now seeing his residence and his charming features I think I understand why, and it must have been really hard for him to find a company with his winning personality—anyway," she added quickly at Bruce's blank look, "the records are pretty much as useless as the rest of the data we picked up. He was a simple hired gun—do jobs and leave—he wasn't even much into Gotham. There must be tons of people who might have wanted him death. _But_," she stressed with emphasis, "I found a telephone number I couldn't track down. It rotated back and forth around the globe and then got lost. I'll ask for Fox's help."

Bruce nodded. She tossed the records away from her, curled her arms around his neck, and smiled. "I've done all of my homework. What am I going to get as a reward?"

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear gently, and smiled back, "What do you want, baby?"

"Take me out dancing tonight."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay—go and change—" She gave him a suspicious look. "We're coming back before two, so you'd better hurry."

"Okay, Bruce, what you're up to?"

"What you first thought trying to sell me the idea," he answered seriously, yet his eyes twinkling in amusement. "We're going to have a little fun and make a field survey. You had some convincing points."

"Bruce Wayne," she exclaimed, "you're just full of shit."

* * *

Liquid Heart was the most high-profile nightclub in Gotham; three stories, elegant, majestic, crazily expensive, and ridiculously hard to get in to, being a secret—everyone knew but none talked—joint venture of the Pascha Group, it was one of the few places even Bruce Wayne couldn't attempt to buy.

Though, the more exciting thing about Liquid Heart—well, the Bruce Wayne fact was very exciting too, if you asked her—was that the organizers provided for a wilder clientele with a very professional circular stage in the middle of the dance floor to perform, not to mention all of the poles, and bars, and mirrors.

Standing next to Bruce in the private lounge, Valerie grinned, approvingly nodding. She closed in on him further and tugged her hand at his elbow. "Darling, we should have come here much earlier. It's—"She let a deep breath out, her gaze fastened on the stage, "—just the thing we need."

"No dancing again," Bruce warned, his eyes traveling the place.

She leaned at him, smiling coyly. "Not even with you?"

His eyes flicked towards her. "I don't dance."

"Then I'll dance for both of us," she purred with a low laugh, then leaped back away from him.

He caught her wrist before she slipped away, and yanked her closer. "No."

"Bruce—"He read his name on her lips more than heard the whiny tone.

Giving her a heated glare, he drew her even closer, flipped her against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He squeezed. "Stay."

She smiled and lifted her arms up backwards to catch his head and lowered it toward the curve of her neck. Her lips found his ear, her tongue flicked over his earlobe slightly before she breathed out into his ear, "Make me."

She stirred her body along his, her hands at each side of his head tightened. "Feel the music, feel the rhythm… let it ride over you…through you…" She felt his lips leave soft wet trails over her shoulder. "It's like making love… love to music." She trembled, words faltering when his tongue brushed that spot just under her ear. He then pulled her even closer, his grip tightening.

She let out a moan over his ear as his hand started crawling up, and cupped her breast over the thin fabric of her dress. "Do you want me to make love to you?"

She pressed herself further into his erection. "I want to dance. J-Lo is asking us to the dance floor."

"I don't dance."

"Your loss." She broke off of his grip, dancing away sultrily, her eyes fixed on him. She then spun around again and he watched her as she catwalk down the stairs, her fingertips brushing the rails.

Bruce sighed, padded after her, but maintained his distance, merely watching as she squeezed onto dance floor. A dark haired man appeared next to her, made a few moves synchronized with hers, then got closer.

Valerie didn't get closer but didn't pull back either, just moved along with the man's moves, misted eyes half closed, half open, a sly smile on her face, teeth catching her bottom lip every now and then. Bruce wondered if she was playing against his jealousy streak. Then he decided it was best not to provoke her further.

He walked to her purposely, dividing the crowd in two, and got in the middle of them. He didn't turn back to look at the man, but he sensed his presence drawing away with the subtle warning. He looked at her and she looked at him back with that knowing smirk on her lips. Bruce took another step, and pulled her in his arms. "Dance with me," he rasped out into her ear.

She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily.

"Let's go up to the stage," she pleaded, moving her lips toward his ear, still kissing, her body pressed on him, their legs almost tangled. He tightened his arms around her waist.

"Don't push it."

In answer, she braced her hands on his shoulders, slid down along his body. Not wasting time, she started to slowly stand up with the same way, rolling herself with the rhythm, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other raised up in the air, fingers twirling seductively as she looked at him saucily. His hands pulled her closer then roamed all over her ass and she smiled lazily bending her leg over the back of his knee-cap. Six inch heels, six inch heels were a terrific invention, Bruce thought, bending his head down toward her neck as the additional inches adjusted the height difference in a unique way to let their crotches grind at each other with the new…position. "See, dancing is good."

He trailed his lips over her neck, ran the tip of his tongue over her jaw line, and moved toward her ear. "We're not dancing; we're making out."

"Making out is good too."

He bit the sensitive spot under her earlobe. "I agree."

More than heard, he felt her gasp. "Bruce—"

"Where did you learn to dance like this anyway?"

"Here and there," she trembled as he sucked her earlobe. "And you've seen nothing."

"Now, really?"

"Boyfriend, get me a pole, and I'll make you the happiest man on the face of the earth."

"Okay," he murmured in her ear.

"Really?"

He grabbed her bended leg and pulled it even higher. "Really."

x

Leaned back on the comfy couch in the luxury lounge, her legs stretched out over the surface, waiting for her drink—non-alcoholic, partly fun partly business, Bruce had said—to arrive via her favorite man on the earth Valerie was enjoying herself immensely when she noticed Selina Kyle strutting toward their lounge.

_Oh, well. _

She pulled herself back and swung her legs down. Selina dropped herself at the edge of the couch, crossed her legs, and smiled at her. "Hey, dearie, long time no see, how you have been?" Selina asked, leaning in. "Schemes to run, places to blow up?"

Valerie pulled her lips up into a forced smile. "Don't worry, for such cases, you're on my speed dial."

Selina smiled further, ran her fingertips along her upper arm. "Let's dance," she drawled, leaning even closer. "I'm bored out of my mind. I wouldn't say no to some fun."

"Thanks," she drawled back. "But I've _danced_ a lot lately."

"Now," Selina's eyes twinkled amused. "Don't tell me your thing with Bruce has closed off."

Valerie smiled again in answer and turned to the side. Selina laughed, shaking her head. Valerie whipped her head back to her. "What do you want Selina? Our deal is good, debts are settled."

Selina stood up, tilted her head to the side. "On the contrary, dearie, they have just started. Meet me downtown next Friday. It's time we make another deal."

She watched her retreating back as Bruce appeared with the two glasses in his hand, his brows furrowed.

_Well, fuck._

"Was that Selina?" he asked, settling beside her on the couch.

She took the glass he offered, and sniffed; something with strawberries, pomegranate, and mineral water. "Yes."

"What did she want?" Bruce asked scowling.

"She came to say hello, she was wondering what to do with the car. Apparently she did get it painted red."

Bruce scowled harder, of course. "What did you say?"

She put the glass on the low table, crawled toward him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her head on his chest. "Maserati," she clicked her tongue, laughing, "not really my thing; said I was more of a Lamborghini girl."

"Good," Bruce answered.

"Its doors open cooler. Besides," she laughed again, lifting her head up, "if I get a car, I wouldn't have any reason to steal yours."

Bruce laughed back. "Like _that_ would ever stop you."

She nodded, agreeing, "True, all true." She rested her head back on his chest again. "What did you find?"

"LSD, afghan, coke," he paused a little, "Viagra, marihuana, and there was ex too, but I'm not sure if they are fake or not, need to examine it back in the cave."

"Hmm… no blue flower?"

"No."

"Hmm," she said again.

"Yes."

* * *

"You're going on a shopping trip with Selina Kyle." Valerie lifted an indifferent shoulder, Bruce looked at her hawkishly skeptical. "What are you two playing at?"

"Only shopping, no playing," she paused as he raised his brow. "You're the one who says I need friends, and she is one."

His raised brow lifted up even further. "She was more than that."

"Bruce—"she whined, "You're not going to tell me you're jealous, are you?"

"I'm not jealous. A little bit curious, actually," he replied, leaning back on his seat. "You see, at first she was my old lover, then she became your old lover, and now your new shopping pal."

She tilted her head to side, intrigued, then smiled. "You're jealous."

"Valerie, I'm not jealous," he repeated again.

"You could've fooled me." She laughed airily. "That's cute," she purred coyly, lips still holding the amused smile. "But seriously, if you start to get jealous of my old lovers, you'll probably end up hating an interesting number of people." She waved her hands in the air a little. "I'm just saying."

"Very funny, very funny," he remarked. "I'm so glad you're so light-hearted about your issues with sex."

"I don't have issues with sex. In fact, I've been reliably informed that I'm exceptionally good at it." She gave him a saucy wink.

Bruce glared at her, and sneered, "Excuse me for worrying about the fact that the girl I declared my love has decided to make shopping trips with one of her _many_ old lovers."

She tilted her head again. "Technically you didn't." Bruce gave her a blank look. "You didn't make a declaration," she clarified as his brows furrowed. "You just said I—" Her finger pointed herself then turned to him, "loved you."

"_I love you,_" Bruce said, stressing the words. "Happy now?"

She shrugged. "Well, it was just a technicality, but I felt the need to correct."

"Thank you, you're so gentle." He paused to give her a look but when he gathered that she wasn't going to say the words back, he sighed. "Valerie, stop messing with the conversation."

"You have to admit the conversation is rather dull though."

"Then allow me to state the obvious fact once again: Why has my girlfriend suddenly decided to hang around with her old lover, who happens to be my old lover first, whom she'd decided to have sex with just because her feelings were too much to handle and she thought a quicky in the restroom of a night club after a leery lesbian show was the best idea in the world to deal with them."

She slung her legs over the armrest of the couch. "Actually, it wasn't just that too."

He growled out, "It's impossible to have a normal conversation with you."

She ignored him. "It was a settlement of a deal, a signature of sorts."

His frustration left its place instantly in a questioning mind as he scowled hard. "What deal?"

"With only couple of minutes Selina gathered Thomas's interests in me, and offered me a deal. I was to keep my hands off Thomas, and she was to keep hers off you." She gave him a look. "I suggested keeping them on each other."

Bruce eyes widened then he frowned. "Wait a minute… Why did Selina want you off Thomas anyway?"

"Bruce, seriously, for being such a smart guy, your stupidity sometimes really astounds me."

"Thank you," he bit off, then narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to say—"

"Quite obvious, isn't it? When her ex-causal boyfriend took an interest in Rachel, she reacted normally—by her standards—but after Thomas' affections started to get out of control, she went wacko crazy." She sighed dramatically. "Ah, the delusions of youth."

"This is ridiculous," Bruce said, shaking his head. "Valerie, they hate each other."

"Hmm, let's say then that they very much love to hate each other? Not the sort of love you ramble on about all time, that's for certain, no puppies and butterflies over there."

"When it comes to girls, Elliot is even worse than me—I mean Brucie Wayne—before—the playboy," he let out a sight, trailing off. "He is a womanizer, Valerie, and I've never seen Selina raising a fuss about it. Why would she have suddenly felt the need to make deals with you now?"

Valerie gave him a killer look, and raised her chin up. "I'm not even going to bother to answer that."

He glared at her. "Yes, of course. My bad," he snickered then paused a little. "Well, that's stupid."

She leaned forward. "Hmm, how is that saying, darling? You know the one about people who live in glass houses, and throwing stones?"

His lips tilted up with a faint smirk. "Duly noted." He then looked at her carefully. "So you decided to sleep with her."

"I was going to sleep with someone, Bruce; you, Thomas, or someone else, probably a person I even didn't know his name." He scowled as she continued. "Selina was a safer bet, and more fun, and well, I didn't want her around you."

Suddenly a very pleased smirk appeared on Bruce's face. "So _you_ were jealous of her?"

"I was being noble," she shot back, "Can you imagine me versus Selina Kyle?" She laughed airily. "I was terrified for the Gothamites."

"Nonsense, you were jealous of her."

Her eyes flared up, she dropped her legs down and picked up a magazine at the coffee table. She threw it at him. "I wasn't. I was being smart."

He laughed as ducking off the flying magazine. "So what's this baby, keep your friends close but your enemies closer?"

Valerie slumped back on the couch, throwing her head backwards. If only he knew…

* * *

The line went to static. "Did you check the tapes?" He asked Valerie, adjusting the frequency back, pressing the earbud set covering his ears.

"Yep," she replied, turning from where she sat on the stool next to him in front of the work stations. "This morning—every morning I check them."

"Okay," he nodded, "Let's see then."

A good half of a hundred kilometers away from Palisades, unaware of the little proverbial fly on the wall, Derrick Malkin was talking with the old warmonger. "So did you set up the meeting, old friend?"

"Da, for the beginning of the next month," Tavian replied, his voice coated with his heavy accent. "After the Irish he became very—moderate."

Derrick gave him a small smile. "These are hard times, calling for reconciliations."

Tavian had to agree that. "Da—But he didn't forget the men you sent to intensive care, Derrick."

Derrick's eyes darkened and his smile vanished. "I most certainly didn't forget about them either, old friend." His gaze flicked away for tiniest of seconds before it turned back to him again. "But again, the times are calling for reconciliations."

Tavian ran a purple veined weathered hand through his gray hair, and nodded. "He asked me questions about Tomah too."

"I already told you, Tavian. Tomah wasn't my man. I just hired him for a job."

"Why—you have your men now," he asked.

Derrick looked at him sternly. "The chance of success was very low—I needed someone dispensable."

"I see."

"I've never been interested in drugs, Tavian, and I have no intentions to start now. And even if I did, I wouldn't do it with that nasty thing; no sane businessman would. You make your customers happy, old friend, so then they can make you happy back. It's the whole point of all business integrations."

"Yes—I still don't understand why—"

A good half of a hundred kilometers away from Bay Ave, Bruce tore the earbud off and threw it off at the table. He called Fox, talked as soon as the man answered the phone. "Lucius, I need those calls."

He stayed silent for a while. "When you can track them down?"

"Too late, I need to know about them ASAP." He closed the phone then turned to Valerie. "Valerie, run through all the bank accounts—"

"I already did. Twice."

"Run them again, we must have over looked something. He's a hired gun, you know the rule. You do a job, you get paid—but if you do a job well, you get paid in advance. Someone might have sent him money."

"They could have made the payment in cash," she countered.

"Perhaps, but I want to be sure."

"I was very through."

"Do it again," he ordered.

She huffed. "Fine."

* * *

Settled on the opposite side of the couch from him with her legs over his laps, Valerie was reading the last of the hospital test reports. She scowled down at the pages then irritated, she tossed them away from her. "It doesn't make sense at all… Fifty reports and none of them contain anything similar to the wacko effects of the blue flower."

Bruce scowled too. "Yes."

"It's just like someone decided pull the plug swiftly." She halted and started to think out loud. "As far as we know there is only one shipment that swept into the city and no one seems responsible for it so far. And the only connection we had ended up pathetically dead in a filthy bathroom. Do you think they are afraid of Batman taking a special in interest in them?"

Bruce looked at her. "Possible."

She scowled harder, and gestured with her hands, "So what? Some people bribed and/or forced Scarecrow to give up his secrets or some of your old friends came back to Gotham or entirely new players made their debut in our fair city then decided to close down the whole operation because they are afraid of you?" She puffed out of her lips exaggerated. "No, that couldn't be happening. I mean things couldn't be that easy." She gave him a smirk. "And we _certainly_ couldn't be that lucky either."

Bruce had to agree that. "Yes."

She made a face. "Are you planning to say anything more than just one word?"

He brushed his fingertips over her ankle and gave her a half smile. "No."

Valerie sniffed. "Ha ha."

The smile disappeared from his face as his expression turned to pensive. "I don't know what's happening, dear, and I like it just as much as you do."

Laughing inwardly with delight that she had brought him to just the place she wanted, she pulled her legs off and slid over the couch. Spinning around herself, she sat on his lap. All right, some buttering up first… then bringing up the topic. He was getting cornered. He needed to get into Arkham as soon as possible to have a chat with that crow-chasing-psycho. "But things are getting much better, darling. Your hard work has started to come to fruition. The streets have already become cleaner. And—" She looped her arms around his neck and smiled at him. "You came back last night without injuries…not even a scratch. I say it's definitely progress."

Bruce gently smiled back at her. She bent down her head to touch on his forehead, her eyes riveted on his. "But now we have to act quickly—"

Her next words were cut off by a gentle tapping on the door, then Alfred's hesitant voice came from the other side. She wanted to scream with frustration. "Master Wayne?"

"Come on in, Alfred," Bruce called sighing out. "We're decent."

Despite the frustration, Valerie couldn't help herself. A string of giggles erupted from her. Bruce gave her a stare. After the episode with Alfred catching them about to do the deed over the workbench, the older man had become extra paranoid about decency protocols. She couldn't guess why. It wasn't like that they had been even naked. "Stop giggling—it's all your fault anyway…cool me...here—on the bench…I used to—" He trailed off as Alfred came in.

Alfred looked at them for a second with a cool expression attached on his face then informed Bruce evenly, "Mr. Fox is waiting for you, sir."

"Ah," Bruce muttered then shoved her off him. "Bring him in, Alfred," he said as Valerie exclaimed, "Bruce!"

She started to crawl towards him once again as Alfred exited. He raised his finger. "Stay."

"Don't raise your finger at me."

"Behave."

She rolled her eyes, returned to her old place but threw her legs over his crotch and looked at him challengingly. Sighing softly, Bruce decided to comprise. He pulled her legs down somewhere between his crotch and his knees.

Agreeing on the silent offer of comprise, she let her legs stay where he had settled them and picked up the tablet from the floor next to the couch. When Fox entered into the room, she was already lost in Victoria's dearest precious secret world. She already knew Fox had come for something related to that foundation of Bruce, which was something that truthfully didn't request her unwavering attention. The line he was tracking had turned out a harder nut to crack than everyone had first assumed. It still held its secret loyally, which made Bruce even more disturbed.

Fox only faltered on his steps for a brief moment upon setting a foot inside, then regained his composure. He gave Bruce a searching look, then his burrows pulled into a scowl as he came to the conclusion that he had been quasi-summoned here for no apparent reason at all.

By now Bruce's wound had already healed quite nicely, apart from a few bruises and swelling, he was …fine yet he still had to spend some quality time in the house resting. She had been very adamant on it. She certainly wasn't going to have him falling asleep on her all the time just because he was too damn stubborn about doing every damn thing himself. One time had been enough. Since his other nighttime activities weren't open to—_adjustments_, deducing the office work at Wayne Tower was a _must_, and after some serious persuasion on Valerie's part, Bruce had acceded.

So smart.

Fox sat down on the armchair opposite them as Valerie started going through the online store. "The setting up is coming around. But we need to decide on the first charity now, the one about GCPD."

With the corner her eyes she stole a glance and saw Bruce's face harden for a second but with the next it relaxed again. Whatever had happened with the force in the last month, he was still decisive to proceed with his plans for GCPD. "Valerie has already proposed a good idea for it. A family picnic…less formal. I think it's better if we go with it."

Her ear piqued up further but she still didn't lift her head. "If it's the case," Fox answered, "we need to find a place and started to organize it before summer fades away entirely." He paused for a second. "The fall rains might put some dampening on what you try to accomplish with picnics."

Bruce nodded in thought and Valerie decided that it was time to interfere. She lifted the tablet up and showed it to Bruce, carefully angling it so that it could be seen by the other occupants of the room as well. "Red or black? I can't decide."

His eyes skipped to the sultry lingerie on the screen then turned back to the men as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Buy both."

Alfred looked he was barely containing himself to roll his eyes, as Fox looked fairly neutral, as she pointed her finger at him. "Genius."

Bruce didn't comment on that, Valerie turned her attention back to the computer and he said, "There is still enough time—"

She held out her hand, "Darling, credit card please."

Leaning backwards a little, he lifted his hip together with her legs, and fished out his wallet. He took the Amex out and threw it to her. "Global warming…summer is stretching out."

* * *

"Alfred, my friend, I pity you," Fox said slightly laughing while descending the steps in the main hall. "Are they always like that now?"

Alfred nodded, a soft sigh escaping from his lips.

"I know he loves her," Fox continued, "and I see that she's not blank either… but I think—I guess I would have been more at ease if he'd settled down with someone like Rachel."

Faltering on the steps, Alfred gave him a look that spoke in volumes. "The problem is, Lucius, even though he could settle down with someone like Rachel, could _she_ settle down with him?"

He looked at Alfred back for a while then nodded. "I see," he finally said, and started to descend once again. "So how are the days around here are nowadays?"

Pausing only for a moment, his old friend answered causally. "Loud, days are very loud, Lucius."

"Ah."

"Yes."

* * *

It was Katya.

All of them were in their usual, natural positions; Andrei behind his desk, Dahlia standing next to him just an inch behind, and Alex in front of both. The only sound in the gloomy room was the tapping Andrei's pen made as it hit the wooden surface. Even Dahlia looked shaken after the last episode. It had been a time since they had been raided.

"She stole Mr. Linkmen's phone," she started to brief them, "and called the police. You know how they are after last month. Gabriel said that he couldn't stop it."

Alex shifted his neck slightly to look at the Gotham nightscape. "We're lucky that he could even give us a heads up."

"Where is she now?" Andrei asked.

"I separated her from the other girls in the safe house, and put her in a cell," Dahlia answered, then said slowly in an unusually hesitant voice. "Andrei, we had no casualties."

"At the last minute," Andrei replied, turned to him, and said in a definite tone, as if he was closing a discussion, a discussion that hadn't even started. "Six-oh-six."

Dahlia bowed her head. Twisting his neck toward her, Andrei snapped, "Don't get emotional with merchandise." Dahlia lifted her head back up. "She's run out all of her chances. Constant problems with clients, then pregnancy, now this… You lost her, Dahlia. It's six-oh-six."

She nodded then, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes, and turned to fix him a stare. "Be gentle."

"Leave us," Andrei ordered, standing up from his seat.

He did, closed the door behind him. As fucked up as they were, they were still human, they were still feeling—things…Dahlia wasn't always a cold blooded, cold hearted bitch, and Andrei was still capable of affections, for his employees, for his partner, for his queen. He didn't always feel that insatiable hunger, they were human, and this was just business.

He signaled one of his men in the hall. "Bring Katya." He started to take stairs to go up at their residences, the upper floors, and stood in front of his suit. He ran his fingertips along the engraved metal number; 606.

He walked into his room.

They brought Katya one hour later while he was playing Pro Evolution Soccer. They left her in the middle of the room, and she trembled, her head bowed, her shivering legs barely holding her up, and Alex tossed his head back on the couch's back, and threw away the joystick in his hands. "Don't be scared, girlie," he said, his eyes closed.

"I—know—what it is six-oh-six," she muttered between sobs with her broken heavily accented English. Dahlia had failed to impart language lessons on the girl, along with everything else. "I hear—I listen-please."

"Do you?" he asked, eyes still closed.

"Yes…the girls…never come back," she sobbed out.

"Please, Katya, we're businessmen. When our merchandise doesn't function, we only discard it."

"Discard…?"

He lifted his head up and smiled at her. "Don't be afraid, blondie. We won't hurt you, no more. We twist the story of six-oh-six to put you girls in line. There is a backdoor. You will stay here tonight, and at dawn I will send you away, I will send you away to…home."

Katya sobbed again, shaking her head, and asked with a trembling, pleading voice, "You say true?"

"Da," He stood up and threw his arms to the sides. "We're businessmen, Katya, not monsters." He dropped his arms and smiled at her again warmly. "Now, you go, take a shower. Be nice again. There are clothes in the bathroom, nice clothes…you're going to see your family again, be beautiful." He waved his hands towards her, her harlot clothes; miniskirt, stockings, halter top, fuck-me-boots. "Come on, move your ass, pretty, dinner time is coming. We're going to have dinner together."

Katya looked at him with widened eyes, unbelief, fear, yet _hope_ swimming over the surface, and he closed in on her, and shoved her inside the bathroom. He closed the door on her face with another warm smile.

By the time the door shut, his smile had already disappeared. He returned to the couch, picked up the joystick and started the game again. By the time Messi shot his fourth goal, Katya emerged in plain jeans and a simple tee shirt.

He called her with a wave of hand, threw her the second joystick. "Do you know how to play?"

Shyly, Katya shook her bowed head. He moved closer and showed her his own joystick. "All right, this one goes back, this one goes forward, right, and left, and this one— "he showed the last switch, "makes the player shot. Come on, pick one."

She couldn't decide on one, so he picked for her, Ronaldo. "How about a cheeseburger?" He asked. "Your last proper American dinner? Fitting right?"

Katya flushed rosily, and smiled shyly, "Ok."

He picked up the telephone, and called for room service and asked for their dinners. They ate cheeseburgers—three for him, two for her, and drank coke, regular for him, diet for her—and played and joked, and soon Katya started to yawn, pressing the back of her hand on her mouth as her eyes shone. She slowly leaned on the couch, her eyes losing focus, and murmured sleepily, "Sleepy—have sleep." Her eyes started to close... "Really see my family, Alex?"

He slid on the couch, and held her hand. "Yes, Katya, close your eyes now," he whispered in her ear. "Soon you will see your family again."

And she did murmuring softly, "Spasybi, Alex." Then her hand dropped from his palm, her head tossed aside, and a soft moan escaped her lips and by then, Alex had become acquainted enough with life to recognize the sound it made whilst it passed away.

He dropped his head on her chest, tears falling...

It was just business.

* * *

"No."

"And here I thought orgasms made men less stuffy too," Valerie shot back sweetly, "But there again, we could mark you as an exception, I guess… I mean all those—"

He glared at her. "Valerie, I know you find it so amusing, but could you please drop this…thing now?"

She held his stare defiantly. "Let me come with you and you won't hear a word about it from me, ever again."

"No."

Frustrated, she stood up and put her hands on her hips to prepare for a real fight. "I don't understand why you're so adamant on refusing my help. You're losing time. We need to talk with that man, like now. You need someone inside for that end," she gestured at herself with animated hands. "And I have a perfect alibi."

"You know the plan. I'll go to check the new security enforcement and plant the Fox's sonar—"

"Two weeks later!" She exclaimed. "They gave you an appointment for two weeks later. I can get myself in before the weekend."

Looking up at her, he stood up too, walked toward her, his pace tense but controlled, his grimace tightened enough to deepen the habitual grim lines along his lips, and Valerie had gotten to know Bruce Wayne well enough to recognize the symptoms; full of his patented arrogance and vanity, his decision had been settled, and his command had been given, and _everyone_ was expected to do only one thing: Heed it. "Valerie," he started sternly. "You are not coming anywhere near Arkham. That's the end of it. And I don't want to hear a word about it anymore."

"Careful, Bruce," her voice dropped a tone down, "I don't take orders from lovers."

"And this is _not_ your lover talking, but your—CO giving you a simple directive," he replied flatly. "Which is something you'll need to learn to obey soon enough."

She arched one eyebrow as a mocking smile blossomed on her lips_. "My CO?"_ She shook her head. "If you only heard how ridiculous you sound now."

Bruce merely looked at her then sat down, waving his hand to her to sit as well. She stayed where she was. "Sit," he stressed out loud. "We need to talk."

"I can hear you quite well from here."

"Do you remember what I told you when we first went to Ireland?"

She sent him a glare. "No."

"Then allow me refresh your memory. I said 'I make the decisions here, and you follow my word.' Even with the latest… developments that point has not changed yet. This is my call."

"I disagree."

"Too bad," Bruce shot back, beginning to understand the reasons why the military never let relationships get personal in the chain of command.

Valerie let out a frustrated sigh but decided to change the direction of approach. "Okay, we're a team, and you're my CO. Then, _sir_, act like one. You need me there, your chances are better with me being there than me staying here." She paused for a beat. "Team leaders don't do all the work alone, Bruce. They take help."

"I'm asking for your help. I'm taking Alfred's help. But he never asks to come with me—he never runs off—"

"I'm not Alfred!" she snapped, raising her voice a tone. "And we made a bargain. My skills and silence for—"

"Valerie—"

"_Don't _Valerie me. You took me to the Robinson—"

"That was different," he said shaking his head. "I was going, Valerie, leaving you. I was going to, then, you said those words and I realized I couldn't, couldn't leave you. We were both—in a different state of mind then."

She shook her head. "Excuses, pretty excuses. You let me go to the second death."

"That was an emergency, and you were surrounded by GPD, and I was away, and we needed to learn what was happening. And you were only there because I didn't _let_ you come with me to Puerto Rico." He halted for a breath, and went on, "Valerie, I'm not saying you'll sit here all the time, playing with my dots but you _will_ stay here when you have no reasons to be out there."

"I have reasons to be out there!" she yelled. "And you're still making up excuses. You let me go to Ivanakovic, even when you weren't content, even when you had doubts."

"Dammit, Valerie," he yelled back, standing up. "I was there, watching your back, ready to break you out at the first sight of trouble. And that was different too, don't you understand?"

She stood up too, shook both shoulders and screamed, "NO."

"I _CAN'T _do these things if I worry about you constantly."

She looked at him in the eye, not moving an inch. "Alfred told me that's what you're asking of me. That's what means being part of something, anything; not only risking your own life but watching people you grow to care while they take chances with theirs. I did my part; it's your turn now."

"Not now, not when…not we just—"

"Hah, you were talking like a lover then!"

Like thunder he closed on in her, grabbed her at the neck of her dress. He pulled her forward. Jerking her shoulders, she tried to pull herself free, but he tightened his grip and pulled her closer. "Have mercy on me! I can't bear the thought of you being in the same place with _him_."

She caught his collar too, and yanked him even closer. "_You_ have mercy on me! Do you think _I_ can bear the thought of you being in the same place with him?"

The rest of the argument remained unfinished, in a deadlock, as Bruce hauled her even closer and caught her lips in a fierce kiss before shoving her to the floor with him, his hands already ripping her clothes off of her body.

x

He was everywhere; in every part of her body, in every inch of her skin, inside her veins, in her every single cell. It was impossible to wear him down with the usual persuasion tactics now, nothing worked, not anymore, yet she knew she had a plan, had something in her mind, she knew she had planned something and she just couldn't remember it. She barely remembered herself. He was everything.

His eyes riveted on her; heated, glinting, intensity darkening, and just a few inches above hers as he moved in her—skin to skin—nothing between, no barriers left—and if only she could close her eyes for a moment, run away from his eyes and think, she knew she would remember, she would find it again.

Her eyes flickered to close as his voice brushed over her, low and textured, like it was coating her skin… "Eyes…open," with each forceful thrust, he rasped hoarsely, one hand fisted into her hair, "look…at me."

And she did, and he was so…beautiful.

She moaned a throaty Bruce, one syllable, five letters rolling over the tongue, silky vocals following one after another to form its spell, powerful, enticing and bidding, and he whispered her name back, her name…Valerie…and she was Valerie because _he_ was calling it.

He hooked her leg over his elbow, then thrust faster, and she squirmed, cried, screamed…like she always did, nails digging, scratching…Her body twisted to one side, she cried out with loss of his, of her only cord to life, and the loss felt like life was slipping away from the temple of her body…

But her everything pulled her back, lifting her leg even more, draped it over his shoulder. He leaned on her, securing her strained body tight in his embrace, then fulfilled her until to her core. Twisted body joggled with his thrusts, she rested her forehead on his shoulder, and clung to him like she was holding on for dear life.

* * *

_A/N: Here the honeymoon is ending, and with the next chapter things start to get—complicated and intense, especially for Valerie._

_'Skin to skin; no barriers left' refers to condoms; condoms sometimes provide protection other health things too. Hope it was clear._

_Bruce and Valerie's talk about their mutual certain old lover is something I _humbly_ thought as my masterpiece for bantering :) I really didn't want Bruce to utter the words in an intense setting. _


	6. No Turning Back

**Chapter Five: No Turning Back**

* * *

Friday morning, Valerie waited for Selina arrive at the little village coffee shop, her mind preoccupied. Things were getting intense again; it didn't take a genius to see it, and now when she could barely deal with all these new—happenings, she needed to deal with Selina Kyle too. Damn her, Valerie thought, setting her tea cup on the table with a force that threatened to shatter it.

She let out a deep sigh, and tried to get her thoughts in order. She could deal with Selina, whatever she wanted she still had the upper hand. She just needed to play it carefully, very carefully. Bruce on the other hand…frustrating, idiotic, yet so beautiful Bruce… She had never seen a man so sturdy before. But she hadn't had her last word yet, she was going to find a way to persuade him, he wasn't going without her. Last night was…oh, well, last night, as crazily intensely splendid as it was, was only a one time failure, and she was… she sighed again.

She needed time, things were still fairly new. It was logical. Adaptation took time, and she'd never had anything close to what she had with Bruce, even with Michael, even with him there had been always some buffers, but time, she only needed time, then everything would surely go back to—manageable standards.

She let out another loaded sigh. She really wished Selina would come and they could get over whatever it was she wanted so she could go back to her beautiful idiot to waste the rest of afternoon in his very enjoyable company. She wondered if she could convince him to have sex in the office since she had managed to get the walls soundproofed. At least, she wasn't failing on every aspect of dealing with Bruce.

The thought pulled her bitter mood a little bit up and her thoughts wandered into more entertaining places… Hmmm… sex on that big table of his—a very nice place to be involved with butterflies or better the couch, or perhaps just on the chair, oh, yes, good ol' mastery… The pissed off expression on her features slowly turned into a lazy smile as she pictured the position in her mind, the tug between her legs pulling… Oh, she really wanted to be in Bruce's company now.

"Daydreaming?" Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly and she lifted her head to look at Selina who stood at the other side of the small round table, her lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "Who is the lucky participant?"

"You," Valerie shot back with the same sardonic mock.

"Valerie, dearie, we can do much better than that, you know," she said before settling herself on the chair opposite her.

"Selina, I don't make one night stands into a habit."

"Neither do I," she shrugged back, "But for you I'm willing to make an exception."

"Thanks," her lips pulled up forcibly, "I'll keep that in mind."

Selina stared at her, Valerie held her gaze back, then Selina leaned forward, resting her arms on the side of the table. She flashed a wolfish grin. "So how is Bruce?"

Valerie scowled, and bit out, "Bruce is fine."

"I'm glad. I was—worrying for him. I hear infections from gunshot wounds can be fatal."

She closed her eyes for a moment as her mind screamed _FUCK OFF!_ She was dead. First Ramirez, now Selina, she was so dead. Bruce, this time, was going to have her head. But still, she knew; it was only matter of time before her life turned into another clusterfuck, spiraling out of control. She was having too much luck as of late. "What gun shot?" She managed to sputter in feign confusion.

"Valerie, please don't, don't insult my intelligence."

She gave her a blank look. "I—really don't understand."

The raven headed woman tilted her head with intrigue. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"No," Valerie responded seriously, "But you have to admit you're a little bit confusing now."

"WayneTech devices, Bruce's sudden withdrawal from the society exactly on the day at the port…" Valerie stayed silent. "Disappeared for years, lots of money, murdered parents… I might not be the best when it comes to behavior—logical, but drawing some logical conclusions was inescapable."

She closed her eyes momentarily, and decided to go with the money bag road. Damage control, she'd become so fucking good at it too. "Okay, you caught us. He's backing him up."

Her features twisting with anger, Selina hit her hand on the table. "_Don't_ insult my intelligence!" She paused for a second, and went on more collected, "I know him, Valerie, perhaps in some way I know him even better than all of you. That's exactly the thing the man I saw in a night long ago would do. So, dearie, please, don't try to sell me bullshit. I know it's him."

Valerie tried to subdue the anger she was feeling, to Selina, to herself…to the life… "So you're going to tell me that you claim this stupidity because of your sixth sense, because of just a simple hunch?"

Selina nodded slowly in response. "Very well then. If you insist." She stood up. "Let's ask Bruce. I wonder what he would say to such a claim." Valerie stood up too and caught her wrist tightly, her eyes shooting a seething glare. "Ah, thought so. He doesn't even know I'm involved, does he?" The witch laughed. "Truthfully, this is getting better with every passing minute."

Selina sat back on her place again. Valerie drew a deep breath in and nodded. "Okay, let's cut the bullshit," she paused. "What do you want?"

Selina arched one eyebrow. "What makes you think that I want something?"

"Selina, please, don't insult my intelligence either," she shot back. "You want something from me, or else you wouldn't bother. You even said it was time for another deal." She waved a hand. "So—?"

Tilting her head, Selina smirked knowingly. "We're really very alike, aren't we? I see why both Thomas and Bruce are interested in you," she said with an over confident smile that Valerie didn't like, not one bit.

She glared at her again. "What do you want, Selina?"

"I want to—" the witch paused dramatically, "Go back home."

"Excuse me?"

"Family matters," Selina replied mockingly. "I want to turn back to the family."

Valerie remained silent for a second then said slowly, "I think you could manage it with relative ease without me."

"The problem is, Valerie," Selina answered back. "I want it to happen in a very precise way."

Valerie smiled then. "Ah…I see. Let me guess. You want Thomas to do it." She nodded to herself. "He got you thrown out and now _he_ needs to get you back inside." Selina nodded back in approval. "Okay, then, question is… where do I stand in this?"

"Just in the middle. I need to have some leverage to—persuade him to that end, and you'll find it for me. You're going to learn how he opened that club here in Gotham."

"You think he's involved in something not—legal?"

"Most certainly."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Valerie, I don't do legwork."

Valerie sent her another seething glare and leaned forward. "Selina, you do understand you are—persuading a vigilante's girlfriend who is wanted for murder charges to do your legwork?" He wasn't one, but Selina at the moment didn't need to know that. "Do you really think that's wise?"

Instead of her expression getting worried as she'd expected, Selina smiled gently. "Ah, glad we touched that part." She sighed. "You know what lesson I learned years ago? Never take anything at face value. And unfortunately, I learned it hard way, but it rather became imprinted on my skull. So I don't, I always look behind the facade."

"Do you remember that security guy? We discovered quite a few things, in Archives, listened to the gossip. Then you know what I noticed? Those police officers that died… all of them were gunned down, a simple gunshot, direct to the head. And you know what everyone says about him? He doesn't use guns…some even say he hates them."

Selina leaned back as her smug expression turned into a thoughtful state. "I don't know what happened and I don't care either. But everything seems connected to each other… Rachel's death, her fiancée losing half of his face… I heard he was even refusing to take painkillers… I don't know what happened, but I have a very educational guess: Harvey Dent lost it, started to take revenge on the dirty cops… Prior to his death, he'd been seen around, there is gossip all around, and I believe Bruce resolved to kill him… or had to kill him to save someone else… or something like that. Then being the heroic idiot he is, he decided to take the blame on himself probably not to tarnish the White Knight's memory or simply because he was grieving for Rachel… Men," she huffed exaggeratedly, "always trust them to act like complete idiots."

Valerie turned her head to the side, watching people passing by, then finally muttered, "You know him well."

"I do," Selina agreed.

"But he's still him, Selina, do you understand?"

"Well, what can I say, Valerie, I like challenges." Then her gaze sparkled with something close to affinity, fueled by intrigue that made Valerie very disturbed and alert. "But I don't want anything from him, at the moment," she added as the glint in her gaze turned even more disturbing. "This is between you and me. And I don't have any reason to expand it," the corner of her lips tilted up with half of a smile, "at the moment."

Then as quickly as it appeared it vanished as her face hardened. "And we have history… I know him well, and he rather knows me well too. He knows exactly what I'm capable of. More, I'm a woman, and he's being all foolishly heroic. I have the upper hand, and you know it, so stop trying to scare me off. It won't work." She paused to send her a smirk. "Besides you won't even tell him."

Valerie arched one eyebrow then asked, drawling out the words slowly, "Won't I?"

Selina smiled gently in answer. "The only thing here that actually doesn't make sense is you, you two. I can't figure how you two got involved… Even before the girlfriend-boyfriend act—"

"This's not an act," Valerie cut her off, her eyes flashing in anger. "We're together."

"Now, yes. I saw you two in Liquid Heart, definitely lovers. But before…" She halted and made a little noise out of her lips, "don't think so. Bruce Wayne isn't the sharing type, I saw it, dearie. He can't be involved in an open relationship. Besides, in Liquid Heart I watched you. When you started to dance with another guy, he dutifully came to your side, not screaming very open to me. And you're refusing my advances regularly now."

Valerie was impressed, so much that even though through anger and worry, she couldn't hide it anymore. She started to gape at her.

Selina laughed at her expression. "I was very intrigued by you two, I have to admit." She paused a second. "But the bottom line is you won't tell him. You're very protective of him, but you're somehow apprehensive too. He's got you quite tamed—"

The impressed look immediately turned into a scowl. "I am not."

Selina suddenly leaned forward and grabbed her hand from the table. She squeezed it hard. "You know, I even have an idea of who you are, but it seems so implausible I _can't_ even bring myself to believe it… I'll tell you a story… Once upon a time there was a girl, and one day she found out a hero's little secret, and this girl wasn't necessarily a good girl so she threatened him—tried to use him for his…gold… Then the Jester in the court went mad… and tried to get her killed… but the hero, of course being a hero, rushed to save her. But the girl was lost then. Then one day a girl… looking so much like the other that she could be her sibling, appears out of the blue beside the hero… Valerie, tell me how I am doing?"

Valerie squeezed her hand, pulled her closer, and gave Selina a flashing glare. "What do you want Selina, really?"

Selina paused, pulled her hand back, and looked somewhere far ahead then slowly said, "I want to turn back to the family."

"Why?" Valerie looked straight in her eyes. If the witch wanted to have a game, she would get it, and it was her turn now. "It was your idea, wasn't it? From the very beginning? You got him to steal the family heirlooms, then denounced him to the police. A very good plan, you even made the rift between father and son grow… But there was something else you wanted. Perhaps you even got caught by that P.I knowingly, so you could continue to play it further…"

Selina didn't bother to deny it, just shrugged. "I was curious… I wanted to see how he would react." She paused then, the same look in her eyes as she looked ahead, the look Valerie had seen on her own face so many times before. She couldn't help but tremble. "I gave him an opening, a chance to break our circle… for a life without me…"

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why don't you just leave him behind?"

Selina's gaze found hers. "I would have stayed in London. I would have perhaps even left him alone but he refused it, pulled me back to his side at the first chance. Now tell me, why would I refuse now when he didn't?"

"What did he do to you?"

She stood up, smiling gently, and Valerie wished she hadn't. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, he did something very good to me." She took her clutch on the seat next to her. "I'll be in touch. I have something in mind, but we have to make a plan first." Then she blew her a kiss. "Be seeing you, dearie."

Valerie looked at her retreating back then shook her head. Trouble, she was in some serious trouble.

* * *

It had started; Selina knew it in her core as she walked away, her pace deliberate, the prose purposeful. She could still sense the mysterious woman's gaze watching her, could still feel the heat of the eyes piercing her back as if to see her, through her, to understand. For a second, Selina wanted to turn to look back at her, steal a glance but she kept her head ahead.

There was no turning back now.

x

_Slowly she pressed her lips on his, then applied a little more pressure, and opened her mouth; he didn't open his, but didn't push her back either. She smiled against his lips, and pressed him against his door. _

_By the time they made it to the bedroom, Bruce had already started to recuperate, he might have abstained at first but quickly reciprocated; he wanted her, very badly, he just needed to admit it._

_Even though he lacked experience, he had just about everything else that made a man a good lover; a good body, a strong will, a high stamina, and a flaming spark to fire it, Bruce Wayne proved himself to be one of those lucky men that bore a burning passion under a restrained personality, and she told herself that the glint she saw in his eyes was just an illusion of her avid imagination, merely a reflection, pale moonlight over a surface, even though there was no light whatsoever to reflect. _

_Hours later, when they exhausted each other, and were close to be naked as possible as to be and still be wearing something, she let him up from where she'd had him pinned—at last, on the floor, bedroom was the last point they'd managed to make. But she didn't go far, just draped herself over him, and his eyes were almost shut as his smile twisted and he didn't move out from under her even if he could._

_His voice wasn't more than a rough whisper as he said, "That was…" he hesitated, eyes still almost shut, "not what I was expecting," he finished at last._

_For a moment she couldn't decide if he was talking about sex, his first time, or something entirely else. Momentarily she remembered the dock and the stone curling around her fingers, cutting into her flesh; pain, burning deep inside, blood dripping down over her thighs, slick and silky. Then she smiled. "This is much better."_

_He shook his head briefly but talked no further and she didn't press either. Lifting herself up on an elbow, she stared at him, brushing the hair from her face then she brushed the scratches her nails had made on his chest with her fingertips. Perhaps there would have been a time when slow and gentle would work for her too, before, when easy and simple were possible. When emotions didn't delude, when people didn't disappoint, when everything didn't turn to bile in her mouth, when she didn't live with insides that were more like fractured glass._

_He turned his head, looked at her, and there was a bruise on the angle of his neck. Her hand started to crawl up toward there, and she wanted to put her lips there too, get his salty sweat on tip of her tongue. Tomorrow he was going to possibly hate her._

_Instead she stopped her hand, laid it on his heart, and twirled her fingers to dig her nails into his skin, just a little. He arched in answer, his head titling back on something like a gasp and something like pleasure, and his eyes narrowed in a way saying that it was about to start again._

_Yes, tomorrow he was surely going to hate her, but for tonight, for one night, Bruce Wayne belonged to her._

* * *

Her fists and feet collided with the long boxing pad that Bruce held in front of his body as she charged him. "No… use the momentum—" Her leg met with the pad, and he pushed it back, "don't bend your knee, try to flatten it and—"

"Shut the fuck up!" she shouted, "I know how to kick."

"Then why are we—"She raised her leg up and kicked his chin. "Argh—"He exclaimed, throwing the pad aside. "Are you mad? Why did you do it?"

"Because I feel like beating your ass," she answered, tossing her hair back.

"Oh?" he arched one eyebrow. "Care to explain why, my dear?"

Approaching him, she tried a swing. "Why don't you let me come with you?"

Bruce ducked. "Valerie—"He turned aside and backed off her. "We've already settled that."

"No, we haven't," she answered, closing on in him again. "We were settling it, then you started ravishing me."

He caught her at the elbow as she tried to punch him again. "I thought it was settled. Okay then, once again; you're staying. And will you STOP this?" he yelled as she tried to kick his groin.

"NO!" she yelled back, stepped on his foot, and kicked again.

"Dammit, Valerie," Bruce swore loudly, and swept her feet from under her. She dropped down. He lowered himself to trap her under him. "Baby, stop, please."

"Don't call me baby, I'm not your baby."

"Valerie," he muttered her name exasperated. "My dear Valerie, please don't be like this," he whispered, his breath ticking in her ear. He brushed his lips over the sensitive point under her ear. She slightly trembled.

"Don't call me Valerie either," she muttered voice more like a whine now.

"Sweetheart?" Bruce asked roughly as starting necking her.

She moaned as tilting her head up to give him a better access. "Bruce…" she whispered, "Bruce, let me come with you, please. Don't leave me behind."

"Okay," he whispered back.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

Valerie wound down completely then, and sighed with relief. She circled her arms over his neck, resting her forehead on his shoulder with a smile. Bruce braced his hands on the mat and lifted his body up a little, enough to give her some space to move. "Turn around," he ordered, and watched as her eyes darken as soon as the words were uttered. She twisted around, gazing back at him with heated eyes.

When she lay on her stomach, he straddled over her back, legs on either side, bracing his weight on his knees. "Arms above, sweetheart." He pulled off her white tank top then pulled her short tights down too. "Bruce…" she moaned as he trailed his fingers down her legs while taking her clothes off. He took off his own clothes too, and threw them to the pile of hers. He straddled her again outside of her legs, and ground into her from behind, his hand reaching out for hers. "Wet already?"

"You're full hard already too."

"I'm always hard for you."

"I'm always wet for you too."

He chuckled in her ear then pulled her hair to other side from her neck, kissed the skin he'd exposed. "You okay?"

She moaned as his fingertips ran over her hands as his lips trailed across the side of her neck and back shoulders. She tilted her neck to look back at him. "I'm pressed down—ahh- on my stom—"The rest of the word faded as she sighed out…"—on a boxing mat by—ohh—"She bit her lip, gasping again…"Oh—my—my favorite ma—ahh-in the whole universe," she let out another moan, "—more than okay."

"Your favorite man in the whole universe?"

"Yeah," she moaned again, rubbing herself over his fingers. "Bruce, darling, fuck me."

"No foreplay?" he rasped, smiling against her skin.

"Done it seconds ago…"

"You mean kicking me in the groin?" he asked pushing a finger inside her suddenly.

She groaned louder in response as he added another one. "Well-ahh—I—ahh-liked it—very."

A rough chuckle ripped out his chest again, and he tugged at her earlobe, two fingers moving through her slick wet canal. "I can see."

"Bruce, enough—" she said frustrated, then demanded, "You'll fuck me now."

"I plan to—" He tugged again, "eventually."

"Bruce—st—"

He cut her off with a fierce kiss, wrapping her hair around his hand, lifting her head further backward for a better access then moved his lips towards her ear. "Push your ass up."

She followed his command, moved her bottom up as he pulled his fingers out. He traced them over her back, glinting eyes watching the trails they made with her juice. She trembled, turning his gaze even darker. "You're so beautiful, Val… so beautiful, sometimes it hurts me too." He caught her lips again, and kissed her open mouthed as he slid in from the rear.

He hit a barrier inside and then pushed ahead as she let out a cry. He grunted roughly in response, bringing his other hand above hers, holding her hands again. Her legs together she was even tighter than usual, and so hot, burning like molten lava—he closed his eyes at the sensation, feeling the blood in his veins flame…so tight, so wet, so hot…so beautiful…He dropped his head down on her back shoulders, breathing out of his nose. She stirred under him—"Hold on a minute—" he managed to utter, his eyes shut.

She did, low, long breaths heaving from deep in her throat then she stirred again. His face twisted with her sudden action, her walls tightening around him. "Not a minute," he hissed through his teeth.

She giggled, her body shaking with her. Bruce buried his head further over her shoulder and bit her skin. "God, just hold still for a sec, Val." After the second, he finally pulled back and started to thrust, adjusting to the new position. He rolled his hips, trying to hit her walls to find out her spot from that angle.

"Bruce!" And apparently, he found it.

He smirked against her skin. "Good?"

"Yeah—faster—" she panted and he obeyed, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her up. Adjusting their body parts properly, he picked up his rhythm, "Bruce—darling—kiss me—"

With his free hand he turned her head to side. "C'mere." Mixed with Valerie's mewing, the sounds of their perspired bodies' made upon with each contact rang as a divine song to his ears, close to perfection. "Spread your legs," he ordered again, and again she obeyed, not making a sound, she never minded him ordering her when it came to sex, Bruce had already noticed. He flattened her back on the padded floor, lay between her legs bracing himself on his hands, and started to thrust faster. She grabbed the ropes at the edge of the ring for strength, and after a handful thrusts he lifted her up again to full doggy position.

He leaned forward, caught her hair to turn her head back and kissed her again hard as she was having it even harder. Yet she wasn't displaying any sign of objections, nor was showing any shyness as she swung back and forth on all fours with the force of his thrusts, all of her open to his complete sight…a carnal visual; her wet glinting folds, round firm buttocks, and his whole length sliding in and out of her before his eyes.

Groaning, he shoved himself to the hilt, grabbed her hips tightly, his nails digging into her flesh and tried to hold onto his reserves. But she was close, so close, and she was getting even closer as his fingers drew scratches over her buttocks and Bruce could feel the heat radiating out of her as she almost lay down on her chest, titling her ass up even further to the deeper, longer thrusts, her heavy cries turning into breathless screams... "Don't come, wait for me," he grated into her ear, halting, "together…"

She cried out in protest. "Bruce…no…no…"

"Shhss…wait… trust me…" He flipped her, and pushed toward the edge under the ropes, one hand reached towards the corner to pull them out from their hinges. The ropes fell down and he slid them over the edge, her upper body draping over the edge between his legs, hair flowing down, brushing the pavement of the gym. He rested his ass on the edge, legs planted on the floor for a better footing. He bent her legs at knee and placed them at the either side of his hips, and held her from the waist. He then pushed his crotch up and drove his way inside. "Grab my wrists," he ordered.

And she did, meeting his thrusts, rocking her hips to get friction, her hands tightened around his wrists for the strength to keep up with him. A few minutes later she closed in on her release again. Bruce started pounding even harder, his hands bruising her lower waist, hair floating down, and so good…so fucking good at it she was, he thought as he watched her with heated eyes, maintaining her grace even in the most demanding positions, looking once again like some exotic goddess as she claimed her pleasure wantonly. For a second he closed his eyes and pictured her in some sort of Ancient Indian temple, draped over an altar in a fertility ritual.

The imaginary itself was enough to push him over the edge, literally. He steadied himself, caught her wrists tightly, and pulled her upward. "Wait…wait for me," the words came out hoarsely, barely whispers. He lay her down on her side, bent her leg toward her front, and slid into her again from behind.

Shifting the angle eased his heightened arousal and let him collect himself once again, barely in time. She twisted her upper body on the floor as he grasped her hips forcefully, pushing forward with fast but short strokes, his hands roaming over her body as his lips wandered over her neck, marking his territory.

But the desire to see her, to watch her as he was doing it was like an endless abyss; the desire to experience every little change on her expression as he was fucking her, none but he. Turning her around again, he pulled her into a long lustful open mouthed kiss and crossed her leg over his upper waist. He pulled back from the kiss to trail his lips along her jaw and rose on his elbow to look straight at her. She got closer, wrapped her arms around his neck as he thrust again with a leisurely rhythm then quickened his pace to mount her to her frenzy once again. She rested her head on his shoulder, panting heavily, gasping for breaths, trying to keep up with him.

"Bruce—" she groaned, gnawing his shoulder.

"Good—?"

"Yeah—" she choked on a groan, tossing her head back, "ahhhh—Bruce—ahhh!"

He bent his head to kiss her exposed neck, his arm moved under her to lift her leg even higher, pulling her roughly to himself, "so good too…you feel— good—" He grunted, letting out a deep, throaty groan mixed with another 'good' as he dove deeper, the stroke of pleasures building up rapidly as he closed in on in his own release. His other hand traveled south, between where their bodies contacted, found her mount and pressed his palm over it, then made circular motions.

She writhed, her arms tightening, and let out broken screams, and kept screaming until Bruce grunted in her ear, over the edge, ready to fall and shatter. "Now baby, come with me." And she did, together with him.

* * *

What a bloody good morning it was, Valerie thought strutting in the hallway, her slippers making no sound over the luxury tiles that led to the kitchen. Amazing sex last night, and another quickie this morning before Bruce went to shower, and she had—finally—finally convinced him to take her along to that damn asylum.

No man should make promises in bed. Poor Bruce had had to learn it the hard way but he really was a guy after all. Understandably, Valerie had had her doubts before. Nevertheless there was no trace of disappointment now, which was something that almost always followed after every good earned victory, no—she had already passed that with Bruce, again understandably. God, how many weeks and countless fine persuasion traits she had had to exercise before her favorite man in the whole universe moved an inch and started to see things in her way again. But she had won, in the end, she had won, she was going with him, and everything was going to be all right, soon, everything would go back to nor—manageable standards.

She hummed happily under her breath; even the little problem with Selina couldn't dampen her current mood. If she could manage Bruce, she could surely manage Selina too. The witch was good, but she was better—hah, take that back, she was the best.

When she entered the kitchen, she met Alfred, who had already started to prepare breakfast. He greeted her with a 'good morning' and a tilt of his head. Valerie approached him and plastered a big sound kiss on his cheek. "And good morning to you too."

His hands faltered and he momentarily looked startled, then he weighed her up and down, his eyes carefully taking in her current state of dress-or the lack there of as she was clothed only in a short silk robe. He shouldn't have been startled their morning encounters in the kitchen had become frequent since she had started to deal with Bruce's daily vitamin fix. Ah, another good deal she had.

Really, why on God's good green earth had she thought that she was slipping off her game anyway?

"A good day, I presume," Alfred remarked as she went toward the refrigerator and pulled out the fresh fruits and vegetables.

"Hmm mmm. A very good night and even better morning," she said merrily, putting the items on the counter, "in the company of a good man in an enormous cozy bed…What a girl could ask for more?"

"I'm glad you feel that way, Ms. Valerie," Alfred said diplomatically.

She smiled, nodded, and looked at Alfred's hands. Alfred looked back at her. She turned aside and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. "If you tell anyone I'll deny it till my last breath but I might even want to prepare breakfast for him too."

Alfred cocked his eyebrow. "Will you?"

"Of course not," she replied, giving him a look. "Odd enough I don't always act on my impulses."

Alfred remained silent for a moment as she added the ingredients into the mixer. She hopped on the counter. "He'd very much appreciate the gesture if you did though," Alfred said coolly, turning on the appliance.

Swaying her legs in the air, she thought it for a moment and then clicked her tongue. "Nah—he'd just think I'm up to something." She sighed. "He knows me rather well—" And another sigh escaped. "You know, sometimes it even gets a little bit disturbing."

Alfred didn't respond to that and she didn't stretch it either. When the mixer stopped she pulled one big glass from where they were hanging, and poured the green mix in. She set it on the counter then turned to Alfred. "All right, let's do it like this; you finish it, and I bring it along with his vitamin fix."

Alfred smiled gently, and she smiled back, and it was still as unusual as it had been before. When Alfred finished with the breakfasts he loaded them on a silver tray, and feeling ridiculous Valerie carried them to the bedroom.

When Bruce emerged from the bathroom, both eyebrows went up toward his hairline. "You prepared breakfast for me?" he asked suspiciously.

Smart man, so smart.

His hair was still wet, a white towel hung from one hand, and he was wearing only low resting pajama bottoms, his upper torso was bare, and regardless of frequent the image had become, its effect was still the same. But first there was one important point had to be clarified. "Of course not," she said and rolled her eyes for an extra measure. "Alfred had a hip ache. I just brought these up with your vitamin fix." She heaved a sigh. "You know, me and my golden heart…"

Bruce gave her a look, and threw the towel down on the dressing table, "Yeah."

"Go on then let's eat. I'm starving." She sat down on the table and stuffed a piece of toast in her mouth.

Shaking his head, he sat next to her. "You're always starving." He picked up the vitamin fix. "How you can keep your form while continuously eating is still beyond me."

She threw him a nasty look. "Why, with good exercise, of course, in all forms and of all kinds."

"You can't just answer a question without a cheesy innue—" Giving him a mocking smile, she cut off the rest of his words by stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth.

"A girl's gotta keep her skills sharp, darling." She put a green olive in her lips, and giving him a saucy look sucked it into her mouth. Bruce gulped down the stuffed morsel with a glare. "Besides," she threw her legs over his armrest. "You don't mind."

Bruce shook his head again, and drunk the fresh supplement in one swig. Valerie's eyes drew to him, his Adam's apple throbbing as the drink went down. Her lips opened and she moistened them with tip of her tongue. Finishing the drink, Bruce looked at her back, then his eyes flamed. Suddenly the whole scene seemed so familiar again.

He set the glass down, threw her feet down and stood up. He closed on in her seat. "Valerie." His hand snatched the toast away from her fingers.

"Yeah—?" she breathed out.

He put the toast down, then grabbed her wrist, "Up." He pulled her upright. "We're gonna burn some calories."

"Oh."

* * *

She stood in front of her precious white-board, perched again on six inches stilettoes, her legs clothed in skin-tight leggings, and wearing a silken dark metallic green blouse that left her tight rump and hips to open to his appreciation, which he did, in length.

One of the upsides of their current situation was that he didn't need to hide his assesments anymore, as being her boyfriend—for real, he had every right to check her out as much he liked, not that she'd ever objected before of course... He suddenly thought about that pole, he need to get that pole, ASAP before a tapping sound drew his attention back to the board, and he saw her hitting the marker on it, her elbow resting along the top as she smiled knowingly.

"If you've finished with your ogling, darling," she said sweetly as Bruce merely looked at her. She tapped the back of the marker on the photo in the middle of the board. "Please, meet Dr. Jackson."

He picked up the folder that she'd prepared and started to go through it as Valerie briefed him rapidly. "Okay, she's working in Gotham Psychiatry Clinic, and you know, I made her acquaintance while I was—uh, socializing around there—" she paused a little, running her eyes away. "She's forty three, no children, divorced, but still fucking her old hubby and she's having an affair with one of her colleagues too, but I think she's just playing the jealousy card to get back at her husband—" Bruce stared at her and she quickly put the one-sided conversation back to its place again. "Anywho," she said, rolling the not-word around her mouth, "she makes routine controls at Arkham. She isn't exactly specialized at criminally insane, but Arkham is understandably having a staff shortage, so they can't be too picky—" Bruce bowed his head to examine the reports. He'd already known that the doctor was taking patients in Arkham, he'd read the reports too. Valerie tapped the marker again to call his attention back to her. "Okay, here the plans… I'll cont-"

He lifted his head up. "What plans?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What plans what, silly? Remember? I'm coming with you."

"No," he replied and turned his attention back to reports once again. "You stay."

"You can't back down now. Last night you said 'okay'. You really should learn not to make promises in bed, Bruce," she curled her lips down, "-or rather on boxing rings."

"Valerie," he said acutely, lifting his eyes up again. "Last night you asked me to let you come with me, and I did. We came together."

She looked dazed as her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth but no sound came out, then she pointed the marker at him, closing her mouth. "You—you're just mean, Bruce Wayne. Just plain mean."

He grinned.

She fumed in indignation and threw the marker at his head. "You'll be very sorry for it. I swear Bruce, very sorry."

He grinned wider and ducked. She closed in on him, caught him at his collar. She pulled his face up toward her. "You find this funny? Well, let's see how much you find it funny when you fall back on your old celibate ways again, darling."

* * *

_A/N: Finally, Bruce and Valerie has become like any other couple in the world with the no-sex-treatment :)_

_Bruce and Selina's sex scene might seem familiar to some of you, because it's the same scene from Some Like It Hot, with some slight differences. This is the original version._

_'Still not a minute,' might seem familiar too, but I'm not gonna tell what it's, because it's my inside joke._


	7. The Man Who Waits For Other Shoe-Part I

**Chapter Six: The Man Who Waits For Other Shoe**

**Part I**

* * *

Bruce watched the bathroom door, listening to the muffled groans and moans, his expression somewhere between sexual exasperation, anger, arousal and…amusement. Despite his current circumstances—admittedly not something pleasant—he couldn't help but find the situation very…hysterical.

Then looking disheveled but satisfied, she emerged from the bathroom clad in a scarlet lace and silk corset and a matching G-string, with black six inch heels… He let out a frustrated semi-scoff, semi-grunt, the amusement angle dissipating fast. He'd gotten accustomed to having a regular sex life too quickly, apparently. And really how many sets of lingerie had she managed to stash in the matter of few months?

She arched a mocking eyebrow at him. "Bruce, don't pout. Look, you've already started to get wrinkles."

She threw off her shoes, came to the bed, and sprawled on the sheets suggestively. He looked at her, frowning. "Are you really going to sleep like that?"

She stirred slightly. "Yeah, it itches." She ran her fingers over the lacework parts and opened the little fastenings at the side. She slid it off her body together with G-string and sighed deeply with satisfaction. "Much better," she mumbled, twisting her nude form over the sheets.

"Were you thinking of me again?" he asked in an annoyed, sarcastic tone.

She laughed aloud, rolled on her side and lifted herself on her elbow. "Why should I? If I wanted you, I'd have you."

"So you don't want me now?" he asked, letting out a half-snort half-laugh, unbelief lacing his tone.

"Nope… I don't like mean guys."

"You're just pissed because I beat you at your game," he grunted out.

"You didn't beat me," she bit off. "I've still not said my last word yet."

"Valerie—"

"You know I wasn't thinking of you—" She cut him off, "but if it makes it any better for you, I was thinking of someone that looks very much like you."

Then all the amusement went out the open window. "Pray tell who?" he asked with a glower, his jaw clenched.

"Manuel Ferrera."

He gave her a blank look, she laughed at him. "Oh, you really don't know him, do you?" She laughed again.

He gave her another look and reached for his phone on the bed stand. He Googled the name and stared at the results. He lifted his head from the screen. "Valerie, are you really telling me that you've just fantasized about a porn star because you are mad at me and he looks like me?"

"Well, it could be worse."

"_Really?_"

"I could have really had sex with him. I hear he drops in on Gotham frequently."

He gave her a stare. "It says _married_ here."

She let out a soft mocking laugh. "So?"

He lay down, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Bruce," she drawled laughing again, "You're so stuffy. I suggest you to take a hike to the bathroom too—" She paused, drew in a sharp breath, and clicked her tongue. "Ah, but of course, you don't masturbate, do you."

His lips flattened in a tense smile. "I see you're quite enjoying yourself."

"Well, truthfully, I am."

"Then let me kindly remind you that I've been very successful in resisting temptation before."

"But has the temptation been this—sweet before?" she asked huskily, her hands reaching to touch the newest bruise across his rib.

Her fingertips brushed lightly over the wounded skin. Bruce closed his eyes, drew in a sharp breath, then admitted, "No."

"Does it hurt?" she asked with tenderness.

"A little," he blew out.

"Then let me kiss it better," she murmured before twisting her body to kiss the bruise. Her lips touched at his skin briefly, just a brush over the sensitive spot before she pulled back again. He hissed in response, and caught her waist. He pulled her over him and rolled them over.

He gently pulled her hair back off her neck, and murmured heatedly, "Baby, how long do you plan to continue this—this—this?"

She looked at him in the eyes, her face now serious. "You know the answer to that question, Bruce."

He hid his face the hollow of her neck. "Valerie, my beautiful one," she stirred slightly and made a low moan when his lips gave her neck a light kiss. "You know I can't do that. My answer is still the same."

Her elbow hit the bruised rib and she threw him off. "I don't like 'no' men around me."

Bruce had had enough. Grunting with pain, he kicked her hip and pushed her off the bed.

"You jerk—"Valerie exclaimed, standing up from the floor, her arms already reaching out to find something. Her fingers clutched the vase on the bed stand.

"For god's sake, stop," Bruce said hurriedly.

She lifted it up. "Why?"

"It's original Ming."

Her arm hesitated and she looked momentarily dazed then she put it back on the bed stand. Her hand went to the little ball next to the vase.

"30's Tiffany," Bruce said with a smirk.

Her hand halted again and she fumed, tossing her hair in indignation. "You inconsiderate bastard, try to have something cheap for me to throw at you, will you?" She leaped on the bed, closed on in him then from insults she moved to fists.

By the time he managed to secure her firmly under him, they'd done more damage to the room then themselves. The Ming had gotten lucky, he had managed to save it just before it was shattered onto the floor by an ill-aimed kick but the Tiffany had not.

He pushed the shattered glass away as he pressed her hands to the floor, and waited for her resistance to cease. "Valerie, you want to play, fine. I'll keep you entertained." She made a face. "But that—that remains off-limits, deal?"

She tried to kick him again. He pressed her down harder. "Deal?"

"No."

He tightened his grip. "Don't turn this into a battle of wills."

"You should have thought that before you played with me like that, you mean arrogant idiotic asshole," she spat. "The nerve of you, the nerve of you! I _let_ you come with me!'

"I'm sorry, very sorry," Bruce said, his voice full of emphasis, and let her go. "You made me very sorry."

She stood up too, pulled the sheet off and wrapped it around her body. "No. No, I did not." Then she left.

* * *

Lucius waited for Bruce Wayne, waited for a good half hour, and he was pretty sure it was because of that woman. Bruce Wayne had never used to be late for his—other appointments.

He was changing—adapting to his new life; a life he was sharing in every aspect with another, for the very first time in his life. She had been already sharing it more than any woman had ever done before, because sharing Bruce Wayne's bed wouldn't have been simply sharing completely his life.

When Bruce finally walked into his office he looked solemn, his face was completely blank and stark, and his lips were tightly pressed together in displeasure. Lucius let out a moderate laugh, "Trouble in paradise?"

The young man looked at him pointedly; a look only a few were allowed to see then ignored the question and asked, "Any news on the call?"

"Nothing," Lucius answered, his amusement fading. "It kept spanning around the globe, but I can't zero in it." He paused briefly. "I even used the Wayne satellite, but still couldn't find the ground zero, it's like there isn't one."

He arched one eyebrow. "You say it wasn't made from a single place?"

"I'm not sure—"

"Could it be a dummy, Lucius?"

"If I could understand the reason, I might say yes, but I don't."

"To mislead us—only it's not leading us anywhere—wrong or right."

"Exactly."

* * *

"No funny business, I promise," Bruce said, taking her hand lightly and pleaded, "Come with me," she snorted in disdain. He gave her a shy look. "Please."

She tossed her hair back, pulled her hand away, crossed her arms over her chest, but waited on the doorstep. He smiled, and slid the door open.

She arched an eyebrow as her eyes traveled around the room, taking every detail in. "You were right. I didn't apologize properly before…for what I did. I'm sorry, Valerie, and this—" He gave her another shy look. "This is, uh, my way of asking for your forgiveness." He took her hand again and caressed her skin. "I've been a mean arrogant idiotic asshole, and I'm sorry for that. Will you forgive me?"

She pulled her hand back and gave him a final look before walking into the room. She brushed her fingers among the scarlet roses as she passed by, and then dropped off at the table which was set with more flowers and candles. She threw her feet up on the table. "That's—"she said, curling her lips in a mocking smile then picked up a strawberry and bit the half of it viciously, "sweet, but flowers and cheesy talking aren't going to get you into my pants." She threw the other half into her mouth and gulped it down. "I'm not easy to impress."

He smiled faintly, closed on in her, and leaned on table. "I know." He took a velvet box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a set of ruby earrings. Her eyebrows rose up as she gazed at them appreciatively. "Now, that's more like it," she mumbled then scowled. She raised her chin up defiantly and turned aside. "You can't buy me with shiny things all the time."

He placed the box on the table. "I'm not trying to buy you."

She tilted her head and looked at him. "You aren't?"

"Well, let's say I'm trying to get into your good side again. It's not buying…more like bribing…elegantly."

She took another strawberry, popped it in her mouth, and then nodded. "Hmm, that's better." She threw her hair to the other side, revealing one ear, and cocked her head. "Ok, go on then, elegantly bribe me."

He clasped the earring on her ear, then tilted her head and pulled her hair back to reveal her other ear, gently brushing his fingertips under her earlobes. She trembled slightly. After he finished with the second earring, he moved his hands to her neck then slid to her shoulders. He gently rubbed her muscles. She stirred, moved her head with his motions and a soft moan escaped her lips. He bent to whisper in her ear. "Rubies really look good on you. And I really was being stupid. I said we should have gotten them before, and I'm sorry for that too."

She remained silent for a while, until his lips found a pressure a point he knew she found irresistible. She whimpered and then words followed, petulant, close to a whine. "I'd thought you'd forgotten about that."

"I—" He faltered, his hands halted, then he moved around her and knelt beside her legs. "I'm sorry. I'll be a better boyfriend."

She looked at him, eyes glistening as she smiled, her fingers touched on his cheek. His gaze flicked toward her wrist, to his fake gold birthday present, his first real gift. He smiled back. "You're a good boyfriend, Bruce. You're just a little bit rusty, that's all." She dropped her hand, and sighed. "It's a new thing for both of us, darling. We just need time to—adjust."

He stood up, rested on the side of the table again. "Yeah, you're right." He paused. "You're not going to say that you were a little bit mean too, are you?"

"Of course not," she shook her head. "I was a girlfriend practically perfect."

"You kicked me in the head then elbowed me the rib, my bruised rib."

She shrugged. "You deserved it. And _please_, stop being a sissy." She looked at him. "Okay, I forgive you. You really prepared well for this. Earrings, flowers, candles, strawberries, well there is no champagne, but I think I can manage to overlook it. Such a cheap date I've become." She then paused, hesitantly looking at him. "But you understand that I still haven't changed my mind? I still want—"

"Valerie, please, no," he interrupted her. "Please, I don't want to argue with you anymore."

"I don't want to argue with you either. But you don't—"

"Let's call this a truce then, 'kay?" His hand brushed her hair with a gentle touch. "I've missed you."

She rolled her eyes and shot his words back at him. "How could you possibly miss me when I was always all around you all the time? I didn't even give you a minute of reprise."

He chuckled and his hand got lost in her hair then cupped her cheek. "Different. You were around me but you weren't. Not the same…" He sighed again, dropping his hand to his side. "You've a way with people. Your presence can't be ignored, can't be looked over. Do you remember the times…before we got involved, when you got mad at me…you were keeping your distance, you weren't talking to me when I was out on patrol. And in the middle of some heist or just waiting, I found myself waiting for your chatter or just some silly remark or…something. You even made silence—distracting."

Her eyes brightened, she smiled her smile, and stood up to hug him. "That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me," she whispered, and rested on his shoulder. He pulled her tighter against his chest, and turned around. He sat on the chair and pulled her on his lap. He buried his head over her chest, muffled laughter erupting from him.

"I'm like that man," he said then, leaning back once again, "the man who waits for other shoe to drop."

Valerie laughed softly. Bruce looked at her with a smile. "In Egypt people use the idiom slightly different than us. Not only for expected things but also for things we grow accustomed to. The backstory is a bit different too. There was an old man—"Valerie stirred on his lap to get more comfortable, ignoring his hardness poking at her. She finally rested her head on his chest, finding her spot, Bruce pulled her closer then continued, "—whose neighbor was a night guard. The night guard always arrived at his home late in the night, and before he went to the bed he dropped his shoes on his floor with a noise so loud that the sound woke the old man from his sleep. Every night. And then the other shoe would drop…bump…on the floor…on his roof…just above the old man's head…every night. But one night…a night that didn't seem any different from others, the old man was woken up by the drop of the first shoe, and then waited for the other… he waited…waited…waited but it never came. He turned in his bed all night, trying to lure himself back to sleep, but sleep eluded him. His gaze was stuck on his roof, and the old man waited until dawn broke... Then just as the first sunlight appeared over the horizon he got up from his bed, went out of his home, went upstairs, and knocked on the door until his neighbor opened it. He grabbed his neighbor at his collar… 'Why don't you throw it, you bastard, why don't you throw it? Throw it so then I can go back to sleep.' They were calling it; _yntzr an alladih alti tji' fi l'elemkem r'eys_—Waiting—"

"—the shoe that comes to your head," Valerie cut him off, still laughing.

He looked at her surprised. "You heard the story?"

She nodded, "Yeah…it was very popular in Egypt."

"You used to live there?"

"For a while. I hung around with Liam after what happened at the clinic, even before that too—after I left Jason in my twenties."

"After you went to find Cathleen?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, it was time the cuckoo left the nest." She pulled back from his chest then looked straight in his eyes. "You know what I missed the most?"

He gave her a suggestive look. "Hmm…"

She laughed again. "Not that. Well, I missed that too but…I missed this, us—being friends." She halted for a second before asking. "Do you think we can manage it, Bruce? Even if we can't make this thing work…even if we fuck it up, do you think we can save our friendship? I know people can't go back to the past, or rewind what happened but I don't want to lose it."

"Valerie, I don't think it's possible for us to go back to the old days now. But don't worry, we will work this out. We only need time to adjust; you were right, we're rusty in the relationship department."

"I've never been good at it."

"But you lived with _him_."

"And I left him, Bruce, in the middle of the night, didn't say goodbye, god, didn't even leave a note, didn't even write a simple 'thank you.' And I mocked you because Rachel left you in a letter." She shook her head. "I just got out of bed, took my jacket, took all the _money_ and went out."

"You took your seashell too," he reminded her. "Valerie, I'm not saying it'll be easy but we're determined people. We will work through this. Look at us now. Just a night ago, we were kicking each other's ass on the floor."

"Are you sure?"

He caressed the bracelet on her wrist. Her gaze dropped to it too. "Yeah, I'm sure. Pour your shit on me, I can take it." He paused for a beat. "Come to me. Whenever you're mad at me or anything, take it out on me, whenever you want to play, play with me, whenever you feel overwhelmed, open up to me. Just come to me, Val. I can deal with you."

She chewed her bottom lip, showing the vulnerability that she rarely let anyone see and the sight of it tightened his chest. "_Are_ you really sure?"

"Baby, did you miss the memo? I'm an OCPD. I can get obsessed over things when I feel like it too."

She stayed motionless for a while then sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "This probably should have irked me instead of turning me on this much…" she murmured at last.

She felt his fingers through her hair again, and when she opened her eyes she met with his darkened ones. "So—" Bruce drawled with a suggestive tone that she hadn't still gotten accustomed to hearing. "You missed it _too_?" he asked, shifting her on his lap properly, just on his hardness. His other hand crawled up her legs, inside her thighs.

She moistened her lips, looked down at him. "I thought I was going crazy," she breathed out.

"You drove me crazy."

Her lips found his… "Bruce—"

"Yeah—"

"Make me come," she whispered out. "Together."

Her back hit on the table a few seconds later as his free hand cleared it for them. When his lips claimed hers, his weight pressed her down, and he slid inside, she felt like she'd come back home.

x

When the earth stopped shaking, and sat back on its axis, he pulled out of her, and fell down on the floor. He lay on his back then pulled her down on his chest. They stayed motionless for a while, not even talking, as she snuggled into him, trying to get even closer. Truthfully, perhaps, that was what she had missed the most; drifting away in the bliss in his embrace as the universe reassembled itself again; satisfied, fulfilled, safe, within strong arms that held her tightly against his chest. She lifted her head up, and rested her chin on his chest. "Bruce, where did you learn to make love like this?"

He laughed faintly. "What do you mean?"

"You know—stuff," she briefly hesitated. "I mean…I was expecting you to be good. No, I knew you were going to be—spectacular, it was obvious that you would be good at this; you have a good body, solid muscles, and you're a very passionate unselfish man, and I've seen you do things that demand enormous amount of concentration and willpower." She gave him one of her rare shy smiles, turning her eyes away. "But you have also…technique…and you, well, you were celibate for years. And you mentioned Egypt… So?"

"India," he answered. "Tantric teachings, which is something you know too. I noticed."

She shrugged. "Yoga. They were talking about it on the tapes all the time. It was a bore, but there were some good tips."

"I used to know people in India, before I fell in with the smugglers, and then Henri. First I trained with a priest, then with a fakir. I can walk over burning coals, and stick sharp needles into my skin."

A shocked expression appeared on her face as she braced her hands on his chest to lift herself up a little. "Bruce Wayne, you're full of bullshit!"

Smiling, he pulled her back at his chest. "I used to travel a lot. I spent eleven years wandering abroad, and I was with Henri only for the last three. For the other times I traveled, met people. I couldn't stay in one place long so I traveled a lot. It was like I was looking for something that I didn't even know. First I thought I needed to understand crime. So I hung out with petty criminals, thieves, some smugglers, generally people born with bad luck. After I understood that path had no end I ran after some sort of enlightenment… I joined a Buddhist temple, got trained… but the rage was still there, the anger, the pain... I left them too. I found a cast-out fakir who taught me some stuff before sending me away because she sensed the pain and anger in me and decided that we weren't travelers of the same road. Then I started to travel again, picked up things in the meanwhile. After a few months, I fell back in with criminals, more serious ones this time. I even started to steal from my own company—"

"Just the thing my idiot would do," she mumbled against his skin, making lazy circles on the side of his upper arm with her fingertip.

He laughed faintly. "Yeah…then I got really lost. I ended up in a prison in Bhutan while trying to steal from myself." He shook his head. "Henri found me in that hole."

Her hand hesitated as she looked back up at him. "I used to hop around a lot too, the places you used to run around. It's a pity we never met before." Suddenly she scowled. "Perhaps not. Were you fooling around in those times?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Yes, baby. I only gave it up when I started to train with Henri. I didn't exactly give up either, as you've seen, repeatedly." He gave her a smile. "But with League of Shadows I was in training for a specific purpose, and neither I nor they wanted me to be distracted with worldly things."

"Well, that's stupid."

"Yeah, perhaps, it was a little." He shrugged. "Well, it was a monastery at the top of a scary mountain. It wasn't like I had many options either. And when I returned to Gotham, I was rather preoccupied with other things, and the only woman I wanted—" He abruptly stopped.

"Was Rachel," Valerie completed for him. "Bruce, it's okay, you can talk to me about her. I won't get jealous of a woman for you, especially an already dead one—"Bruce tensed under her. "I'm sorry," she said hastily, "I didn't mean like that. I—"

"I know." He paused a little and asked, "Why did you say 'perhaps not'?"

"Well, if we had met before, we'd have probably had some wild sex in some restroom or in a dingy hotel, and I'd have probably ended up stealing from you and/or using you for one thing or another. Then we wouldn't be here now."

"Good thing then we didn't meet before," he answered, but didn't mention she had _tried_ to do all of those when they'd met.

* * *

_A/N: Wonders of wonders! They _actually_ talked about the past a little. Heh, wonders of pillow talk, I say._

_And Bruce's time with a fakir bits come from Batman: Gotham Knight, which takes place between Batman Begins and the Dark Knight, which is also sort of canon. I like this anime a LOT, because it's just Bruce Wayne._

_See ya at the second part._

_G._


	8. The Man Who Waits For Other Shoe-Part II

**Chapter Six: **

**Part II**

* * *

They returned to normal—well, their normal at least.

"It'd better to be something important, Bruce," she chided as she walked into the master bedroom, "Bo and Hope had a fight, and they were just about to start making up—" She stopped, seeing the package in his hand, and leapt on him with a delighted squeak. "Oh, darling!" She wrapped her legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and started to give him little kisses. "You bought it."

"Valerie, get off me," Bruce responded, pulling his face away from her kissing assault. She didn't heed his words. Bruce dropped the big lean case on the floor and put her down. "Why are you so shocked anyway? Didn't I say okay?"

She shrugged, grinned, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You also said we should get me rubies and look how long it took you to remember that again. I thought you forgot about it too."

He pushed her off a little to give her a heated look. "I didn't, Valerie, believe me, I didn't."

She grinned even wider then dropped on her knees. She started to open the case. "Spinning or Stationary? I hope you got the stage too. And—and—"

"Stationary," Bruce replied, kneeling down in front of her. "No need to get adventurous—much."

"Hah! I'll make you remember that when you show up with a spinning one tomorrow morning. Hmm," she nodded her head approvingly, looking at the container next to the metal case. "Well done, you got me the stage." She gave him a big smile. "Aren't you sweet?" She bent down to steal a quick kiss. "Gee, if you told me before, I'd have gone to shopping for something—appropriate."

Bruce caught her at her waist and pulled her closer. He caught her lips, his mouth hungry and hot, tongue insistent, demanding. She made a strange noise in her throat, close to humming and sighing, and pressed in on him. He then let her go just a little. "I'd rather to see you naked."

"Bruce!" she exclaimed, laughing.

He gave her a smile. "Come on, help me to set this thing up, then we'll see your fine acrobatic skills."

She gave him a look of a mock dread. "Oh god, I think I've created a perv out of you."

"You're rubbing me the wrong way," Bruce said taking out two long poles and attached them together.

She didn't do anything other than give him directives, reading the manual, not that he needed it, but there was something, a thing that made him feel so good having Valerie at his side giving simple directions to assemble a pole in the middle of their bedroom. For a moment it felt they were just an ordinary couple—trying to enrich their private life—or newlyweds trying to set up their furniture from IKEA. It felt good, close to normal.

Half an hour later, the pole was standing on the stage, and Bruce suddenly thought what Alfred would think tomorrow, upon seeing a dancing pole in the middle of his bedroom, and then realized that he didn't even care.

Valerie climbed to the stage and held the pole with a forceful grip. "All right then, we're good to go. Let's give it try—and see if it's going to hold up. I hope you didn't buy something cheap."

"Valerie, I don't buy anything cheap."

"Snob," she muttered then started to unbutton her jeans, and take them off. He arched his eyebrow. "Bare skin holds better," she explained and started with some warm-ups. She relaxed her muscles, opened her legs fully and touched her upper torso on the floor. She then climbed down and sprinted toward the wardrobe. She found one of the shoes she'd stashed for emergencies, and turned back with a red platform pair. She even put gymnastic socks as Bruce lifted his eyebrows even further. "That's should do it," she drawled and straightened back. "All right, let's see if I still remember it right—"

Climbing up again, she placed one hand high on the pole, and tightened her fingers with a forceful grip. She then hooked her left ankle at the front of the pole, and leaped up to make a spin, a full turn around the pole, and slid down still spinning, moves soft and sultry. Then she moved her legs up, grabbed the pole with her thighs and made several moves he couldn't trace because of looking at her spiraling form and she squatted, dipped her hip, and detached herself from the pole effortlessly.

He'd been expecting something good—he'd been really expecting something good—her body had strength in all the necessary places. Her muscles were toned, and she was agile, flexible—god, he knew exactly how flexible she was now, and he had already seen her dance—had seen her moves— but still it was something—extraordinary to watch her spinning around a pole, very, very extraordinary—and it was just a test drive, he knew.

"Nice," he breathed out roughly.

"Basics—"She scoffed, then grabbed the pole once again, one hand up, the other lower, and leaped up, and hooked her ankles around it. Her eyes lowered to find him, and she smirked. "Catch me if I fall," she warned then squeezing the pole within her knees, she started to climb a little higher.

She swung herself one side, and climbed even higher on the pole, using the inside of her knees with fast three moves, then let her legs go up in the air. She threw herself up, her back slid down just a few inches as her legs hooked around the pole again as she flipped upside down.

"Valerie," he rasped seeing her clutching the bar tightly with her hands and thighs. Her gaze found him again. "Valerie, not too adventurous—"he warned.

Still upside down, she smirked wider, moved her legs to bend them at the knee, wrapping her ankles over each other and slid down—but slid down too fast—"Val!" he exclaimed as he leaped on his feet and sprung towards her before she fell down on her head.

But just inches before he could catch her, she grabbed the bar again, and managed to stop herself. She spun around, let go of her hands, tightening her legs further and braced her hands on the floor. She then pried herself off the pole with a graceful move and slid on the stage, dipped then raised herself up all on all fours, and crawled toward him.

Just at the end of the stage, she stopped, and lay on her stomach propped on her elbows. She pulled one leg up in the air, and gave him a cat smug smile. "Hmm—still remember it right."

Bruce gave her a disapproving look, even as his blood was running high on desire. "I thought you were going to fall down on your head."

She shook her head. "Bruce, seriously, you don't think I've made all those—accomplishments just being nice, do you?" He glowered at her. She let out a husky laugh, then explained, "Had to pose as a dancer once, so took lessons from a pole dancer, and it turned out I _really_ am a natural talent."

* * *

They returned to normal—and Bruce demanded another full research on Tomah, Derrick, and since she was already in deep, he kindly asked her to look over Tavian as well. Valerie opted to go with something a little more fun.

Donned her best battle armor; Prada and Versace—coincidentally Georgina's special preferences—Valerie walked into Jackie's. She hardly stopped to give the receptionist a look, but even that passing glance had been enough to collect that there was no recognition on the woman's face. She had studied her lessons well. She spotted Georgina in the left corner, and before anyone could fuss about her, she went and sat in the empty seat next to her.

A middle aged man, looking adequately queer for his chosen profession, appeared beside her, and started to play with her hair, passing his hands through its length. "What beautiful hair!" he exclaimed, "all silky and natural. I know quite a few that would kill for its volume, hun. What are we going to do to it?"

Valerie gave him a smile. "I want something—seductive." Her smile grew wider as she slanted a look over at Georgina and leaned forward to the man. "My boyfriend and I are celebrating our first anniversary tonight. I want something special."

"Then you came to the right place, sweetie," he exclaimed again, and clapped his hands with grande manner, calling two of his apprentices to his aid.

"Some coloring, perhaps?" The man she suspected to be Jackie asked, "Lightening became very popular again this season."

"No," she objected, "My darling likes it dark. But I'll have a manicure and pedicure." Jackie clasped in his hands again in his unique fashion and two more people appeared next to her. Then she realized she was making a tactical mistake. Normally she was all for having people do things to please her, but this was drawing a little more attention than she had initially planned. So she tossed her head back, and cried out, "Enough pulling—be careful! And you, be careful with my nails, I don't want to see blood," she added the last part to the girl who had started to work on her nails.

As soon as the employees gathered that their clientele was one of _those_, they pulled back. Jackie signaled the other two with some special eye movements and bent forward as the others maintained their distance. "No worries, honey, Darla is the best manicurist in the town."

She nodded curtly, and looked down at the pedicure bowl Georgina's feet were in; more than a few dozen little fish were swimming in it. Her features twisted. "What is that thing?"

"Doctor fishes," the manicurist answered, "Our special treatment, we're the only one in Gotham to offer it. They feed on dead skin." Her face twisted further in disgust as Georgina smiled while reading her magazine and lowered it to her lap. "It tickles," the redhead said.

"I can imagine," she mumbled.

Georgina smiled again. "Yeah, but my feet get so much better after the treatment; my boyfriend adores them afterward, he—you know—likes feet."

_Bingo!_ She smiled and turned to the manicurist. "Hmm… can I get a treatment too?" she turned back to Georgina and leaned forward, and giggled, "So does mine."

Georgina leaned even further, and then they started _talking._

x

An hour later, her hair styled, her nails manicured perfectly, and her feet were eaten properly, she sat on the little café's wooden chair, and called Bruce. "Derrick has a foot fetish."

Bruce paused over the line only for a second then asked, "Anything else?"

"He likes having Georgina on top."

"Anything else relevant?" he amended his inquiry.

"They still haven't found that their security was breached. He's not fawning over Georgina as he used to, he's always busy now…always working… men come and go…foreign men…" Valerie paused. "Tavian and him—they're up to something."

"Yes," he replied with his usual one syllable answer.

"No worries, we've talked about a lunch date, and I'll call her next weekend, and I'll dig around further tonight. I've cleared off my whole schedule for digging—but don't worry, I didn't neglect to cut some slack for you—" She halted for a second, and fired at once. "Gotta go, need to see Victoria now."

"Who is Victoria?" he asked, and Valerie could almost see the little scowl on his brows from his voice.

"How don't you know Victoria? You see her every night," she paused, "when you're a good boy, of course. Granted you like throwing her all over the place more than keeping in our company—but don't worry, I'll never tell her that. It's our little _secret_."

"Ah—" he said, "Ok, call me if you can't decide again then."

"I already can't decide, darling…I'll get her perfume too, but answer me, which one: Simply Gorgeous or Tease?"

He sighed, "Go with Tease."

"Nah… I think I'll buy both again."

"Okay, baby, go and see Victoria then come back to the office. We'll return to the manor together."

"Will do," she agreed, "don't forget to think about me…remember how?"

"Naked and squirming under me."

She laughed. "What a good boy," she closed the phone then, and made another call.

"Hello, this is Dr. Lena Collins speaking. Dr. Jacksons, please." She leaned back, crossed her legs and started to take care of her other problem.

Despite the last episode, there was one thing that was sure. She hadn't had her last word yet.

* * *

"Valerie, put that thing back in the bag," Bruce fumed, slanting a glare to her while driving toward the manor.

Holding the tiny babydoll over herself, Valerie bowed her head, and smiled. "But it's worth a good look, Bruce. Look at this beauty!"

"I did," Bruce said with another stern look. "Along with everyone else on the road. Put it away."

She laughed, threw the garment in its bag and scooted closer. "Darling, it's no wonder you spend the majority of your time in a cave, must feel like in your natural habitat. Now—don't give me that look," she breathed out a laugh, pulling back, "I find it quite a turn on."

"You find everything a turn on," Bruce muttered under his breath.

"How lucky for you," she shot back laughing again then said, "I called Dr. Jacksons today," and watched as Bruce's jaw clenched, his hands tightening around the wheel.

"No," he hissed out.

"Pull over," she ordered with a business tone, the playful mirth in her voice gone. "I've had enough of this 'no' business. We're going to talk. Now." He didn't, kept driving. "I said, pull over."

Bruce still didn't oblige so she lowered the window and threw the smart key out into woods beside the highway.

"Valerie!" Bruce exclaimed.

She threw her hands in the air, her head cocked to side, "Don't tell me I didn't warn you."

"You're unbelievable," he shouted, pulling aside.

"Will find it later," she said with an incredibly reasonable voice and continued, "Now, since we're pretty much stranded, let's have a talk."

"There is nothing to talk, you stay in my cave," he got off the car, and slapped the door furiously back.

Valerie leaped out too, and shouted after his back. "I can't believe I have feelings for an idiot!"

"Too bad," he shouted back, walking into the woods.

She wanted to smack his head, really wanted to, hard, very hard, perhaps even kick him in groin, and a fist in the nose wouldn't be bad either but she held on to her composure, and ran after him. "Okay, sorry, let's be civil, okay?" She turned around him to face with him and took steps backward as he advanced, "I even got my feet eaten for you today."

He halted, "What?"

"Doctor fishes," she clarified smiling. "They feed on dead skin. No, it isn't as disgusting as it sounds but tickles, a lot." She smiled further as he shook his head. "You always say we need to talk about our issues like normal human beings."

He looked at her. "Normal human beings don't throw the keys out of the cars to stop them, Valerie."

"Normal human beings don't refuse to talk either when their partners want to, Bruce."

He looked subsided for a moment, then said, "Valerie, you can't come with me—"

"I can assist you," she cut him off. "I can get inside easily."

"You're not offering me anything I wouldn't do myself," he remarked slowly. "Bruce Wayne can go survey how his money gets spent."

"Bruce Wayne can go to survey—only security protocols," she shot back, "which—aside from the time issue—is quite good, I agree. But can he get himself in the company of a criminal sociopath to plant the sonar specifically there?" She waited for a second. "Dr. Lena Collins can. It's even her field of expertise."

"Is it?" Bruce asked frowning.

"Yeah, the genetic factors of sociopaths… I told her that was what I was researching," she poked him at his chest. "Don't give me that look. You were the one who investigated the affinity of crime in the company of thieves."

Bruce gave her another look but didn't comment on that, instead he said, "I don't have to plant the device specifically in Crane's room. Just inside the perimeters would do."

"Still—" she fumed.

"People have started to recognize you now—you have to stop poking your—"

"I know how to disguise myself—I used to do this for a living, Bruce."

He shook his head. "Too dangerous."

"I'll be perfectly good. I'll obey your commands, every one of them, no improvising, no unscripted actions unless it is a life-or-death situation. You'll take the lead, and it will be your call."

"Still too dangerous, and unnecessary," he repeated.

"You ask me all the time to do dangerous stuff you can do, what's the difference?"

"You know the difference exactly. This is not some research or surveillance job. You know how dangerous _he _is."

She threw her hands in the air. "_He _won't even see me."

"If everything goes to according to the plan," he shot back.

"Why wouldn't it?" She started shouting, anger building again with the repetitive argument.

"When has it ever?"

Being civil forgotten, she grabbed him at his collar and pulled closer. "Don't try to protect me from the dangers that exist only in your mind, you idiot. I'm not a poor little girl who took refuge under your roof, who has to be wrapped in a cotton cocoon. This is my choice. Much like you, I _chose_ this life. I'm not a victim of circumstances, I'm not a victim of him, I'm not a victim of anything. Don't try to victimize me. _Victim_," she spat, pushing him back, "It's my least favorite word in the whole world. I WON'T be anyone's victim."

Then she noticed Bruce looking at her with a newly sparkled curiosity, his brows burrowed as assessing what she'd just said. "Valerie," he said softly, taking a step forward.

She cut him off. "You know what—forget it. You don't want to comprise, fine. I'll deal with it on my own terms."

* * *

Her terms were pulling herself back again. She stayed at his side, even in the same bed, but kept her distance. And every time Bruce tried to get her see his point, he met an invisible wall. And the more she moved away, the more he became sure of the plan that had started to form in his mind.

She was still as reckless as the first day, and his constant warnings still hadn't made a dent in her. They had to be careful—shouldn't put themselves at risks. This wasn't making acquaintances of graveyard caretakers or mobster's girlfriends anymore. Even if Valerie refused to see it, the stakes were higher now. He couldn't lose her—especially to _him_, not again, not another one.

She wasn't going to be pleased—Bruce was sure of it, but still he was going to do it.

He pressed down on the comm. and called Jennifer, "Jenny, make a call to Jeremiah Arkham, we need to reschedule our appointment for this week. If he objects, say that if he doesn't accede, I'm going to pull all the money back. And Jenny, I want it to be very discreet."

Two minutes later, Jenny called back. "It's arranged for the day after tomorrow, sir."

"Thanks, Jenny," he said before severing the connection and walked out to find Fox.

"I need something to muck up the trackers." He announced as soon as he walked into the older man's office.

Fox just arched his eyebrow.

* * *

_Well, the truce couldn't live even for a chapter...That'd be too much easy :)_

_Please review, if for nothing else, you can at least thank me for sharing(it takes some effort to put it online, you know:)) And, honestly, I'm really getting bored with talking to myself all the time, have started to feel like invisible..._


	9. The Alpha Male

_A/N: Not even a thank you... wow, that was mean, you know. _

_Okay, then, no pressures. I guess we're good until I've become truly bored, or summer really hits to shores :)_

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Seven: The Alpha Male**

* * *

Valerie wasn't a happy individual, and it seemed that she wasn't going to be in any seeable future. She was sitting on the chair in the same village teashop waiting for Selina to arrive, shaking her crossed leg furiously. Forty minutes late, forty fucking minutes late. It wasn't even fashionably late anymore, and she was pretty sure the witch was doing it on purpose, just to spite her.

Why was everyone on the God's green earth so hell-bent on making her furious anyway? God, she felt like she might burst open from anger at any moment. She needed to get a grip, and cool her head and focus on the problems, one at a time.

First Bruce, then Selina. They could push her, but she could always shove harder.

She understood him, really did, even though she almost wished she didn't. He was trying to protect her, and despite her better judgment, she _even_ liked it, liked the absolute knowledge that she could trust someone—that she wasn't going to left behind, no matter what, god, and she knew what that meant—the fact that most of times she ignored her issues didn't mean she was unaware of them…the old familiar hurt of betrayal still cut so deep—so raw—even after his death—and she still had no idea of how to let it go.

But she still hadn't said her last word yet. She couldn't stay still, sit and obey. She just couldn't. Her nightmares had stopped—another interesting thing to observe—but she wasn't going to kid herself into thinking she wasn't just barely holding things together. She needed action…she needed to do things—that was what was _normal_ for her.

She sighed. She liked being with Bruce whether it was just being with him or engaged the most spectacular sexual events, she liked his presence, liked to be in his company, she always had, but sometimes she wished things hadn't been this hard. She scowled, and let out a derisive snort—had she also started to delude herself now? This wasn't her—who was she was kidding? If things hadn't been this hard with him, she would have already run away.

_Hmphf_—she was even this close to understand Bruce's reluctance to sleep with her before—sex—it had complicated things further…imagine that! No—no—no—she shook her head—no, they just need time—time to adjust—this was a new thing for both of them…

Selina appeared on the corner, strutting leisurely, like she was out for a late afternoon walk, her phone in her hand as she looked over something with a merry smile on her lips, mouth talking to a beautiful young girl beside her, who responded her eagerly, with an awed, happy smile on her young face, carrying _a lot of_ packages.

Valerie seethed in fury, fixing them a poisonous stare. The witch had been shopping, _shopping_ while she had been waiting for her like a fool. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply, trying to hang on her reserves to keep her calmness.

They approached the table, as Valerie forcefully stopped her swinging leg. Selina threw the phone on the table gallantly then threw herself on the chair opposite of hers. "I'm so tired. Holly, dearie, fix me a drink, will you? Something flowery and sweet, I guess. I'm in sweet mood today." She smiled at Valerie, as the girl mumbled out a happy, "Sure, Selina."

"Shopping wears me down so much," Selina remarked cheerfully as the girl walked toward the bar.

Valerie forced a smile back. "Who's she?"

"She's—" Her lips turned into a smirk. "She's my entourage."

Her forced smile grew even wider as she nodded, her muscles almost throbbing, "I see."

"Valerie, dearie, I really don't do legwork."

Before Valerie could answer the young girl came back, a glass in her hand, and offered it to Selina. Selina turned aside to her. "Now off you go to the flat now, I have some business around here. I'll come later. Hmm... Call the laundry, will you, our dresses must be ready, have them sent to us. Oh, and that delicious French desert you did last week? _Crème Brule_—can you fix it for dinner too?" She smiled. "I'm really in a sweet mood today."

The girl nodded. "And perhaps a good wine with it? _Chianti_?"

Perching her elbow at the chair's back, Selina perked up. "Look at you," she exclaimed, patting the girl's arm with her other hand. "Talking about _Chianti_ and _Crème Brule_." She nodded with delight. "Yes, that would be wonderful." She waved her hand. "Now, off you go. Take a cab, talk to no one, and don't open the door for anyone. I have keys on me, I'll let myself in."

Valerie watched the strange exchange as the girl nodded and strode off. Selina looked after her for a while, her brows furrowed. It was indeed a strange exchange, Selina for a moment sounded almost worried for the girl. Then her attention turned back to her. "Dylan Throne," Selina began with no further formalities. "You're going to squeeze the information out of him."

"Dylan Throne? That suave blond? Your old squeeze?"

"It's like high school all over again," Selina commented with a laugh. "We're rotating through the boys."

Valerie grimaced but didn't comment. "Do you think he knows something?"

"Possibly. He and Thomas have a—different friendship. They aren't really big fans of each other but I guess they are the only people who could stomach each other. A friendship of necessity, you might say."

"Wow," Valerie shot back, "That was rich, coming from you."

"Valerie, I don't have friends, I don't need friends. I can't even stand them. Thomas on the other—" She paused, curling her lips down. "Don't fall for his bad boy act. He's such a poor little boy in his heart—"She laughed, "well, deep, very deep in his heart."

Valerie wasn't amused. Truthfully, if it had been another time, she would have been. She would have schemed with Selina… it was fun—_she_ was fun—and she was sure she would even make a profit at the end, she always found a way, but not like this. This wasn't her choice. She was forced into this, bullied, mocked, and more importantly, this was no longer a game. This was about Bruce—the person she cared about the most in her life. "That's why we're angling for Throne?"

"Well, he's a wooden-headed fool, that's for sure, but when it comes to scheming, Thomas' brain works like a fox. Dylan though—well, I believe, his main purpose in life is to fuck as many girls as possible." Even the crude word had a certain grace, with her silky British accent Valerie observed, grimacing.

"You seem to forget Rachel."

The airy, arrogant expression on Selina's face soured and Valerie smirked with satisfaction. She knew she shouldn't have done it, shouldn't make her angry. Selina was already dangerous enough as it was but there was a limit to how much she could play the good girl. But after one scorching glare the anger turned into flippant arrogance then Selina smiled gently, and it was as disturbing as ever.

"We all have weak moments," she said slowly. "After Rachel, there was another. It lasted two years –on and off—before he snapped and left the country, even had to leave the continent. He came to London." She laughed again. "And she had bulimia and after he ran off she turned into an alcoholic." She tapped her bottom lip with one finger in consideration. "There must be something profoundly wrong with our generation, don't you think? I wonder if it's about genes."

Valerie ignored the last comment, and cocked her head. "And you had nothing to do with these…happenings?"

Selina shook her head. "No. Dylan lost my attention completely—"

"Good for him," Valerie murmured. Selina laughed again.

"And I had other commitments." She took a sip from her sweet nectar. "Do you have any idea how time demanding it is to ruin a marriage?"

"That depends… whose marriage we're talking about?"

"My mother's," she answered.

Valerie shook her head. "It seemed all your hard work didn't come to fruition though."

"Do your research," Selina shot back. "They divorced when I started to college. It's their second—" she paused then smirked mockingly, "—chance."

Valerie looked dazzled for a second then responded causally. "They got married again, still not seeing fruition, honestly."

"I didn't care. Melina needed to understand one point, and she did. After that, it didn't matter who she married. In fact, I preferred it to still be Rupert."

Valerie of course didn't ask what had been the point her mother had needed to understand. She didn't like to be lied to. "So I deal with Throne."

"Yeah…Thomas in essence, like I said, is like a little boy; he likes to boast. He's surely talked to Dylan."

"Then what are we going to do about him? He isn't a fool, as you say, and I agree. He'd get suspicious if I suddenly start to hit on Throne."

One eyebrow arched innocently. "Are you sure?"

Valerie glowered at her but managed to swallow a very hurtful comeback at the last minute. Selina waved her hand in the air. "Don't worry, he won't see it. I'll keep him occupied."

"You will?" Valerie countered. "Mind to tell me how?"

"Actually, I would," she shot back. "But since we're—partners…You see, the best thing about Thomas is that he's a very curious individual. I don't even need to do anything particular. I just sit here, doing nothing for a whole week, and at the end of the weekend he'll rush to my flat to check on me."

"But you won't sit doing nothing, will you?"

"Of course not," Selina shook her head with a laugh as if to say that this was the most obvious thing in the world and she was _shocked _how anyone could ask her that. "I get bored fairly quick, and need to keep myself entertained."

"You're—you both are insane." The words popped out of her mouth of their own will, even though she knew she was being a freaking hypocrite.

Selina shrugged, didn't even bother to object or bother to call her on her hypocrisy. "Being sane is overrated," she said smiling gently again. "This is much better."

* * *

More than anything it was a twist of luck. Or as sick as it was, God really loved him.

Or perhaps it was just fate itself, bumping into them while he was wandering around the city aimlessly, his hands shoved inside his pockets, lost in thought. He wasn't really looking for anything but trying to chase off Katya's ghost—_spasyi, Alex_, thinking perhaps she had been right…that life—this life would really have been a lot easier if they hadn't had a conscience.

Then suddenly, at the next corner, he saw them walking idly side by side, laughing, their elbows tucked into each other, hands full of shopping bags. Despite the change of clothes and removal of heavy make-up, he recognized Holly quickly, and the woman…

Her features were unfamiliar without her lacework mask but it was impossible not to recognize that enigmatic smile. He hid behind a corner while they passed by him, their laughter ringing in his ears. They seemed—happy.

Alex went back to Molten, went directly to Andrei's room, and looked at Dahlia and him. He opened his mouth to talk, but no word came out. Andrei arched a questionable eyebrow, as Dahlia looked at him expressionless, emotion free.

He kept his silence.

* * *

Sometimes after long days and longer nights, when Alfred went to bed, he couldn't help but think about his life, and he never believed how it turned out. He wasn't sure any more about how things would have been if his charge hadn't chosen this life, or hadn't _chosen_ to fall in love with her but there was one thing that Alfred knew surely without any doubt: if Bruce Wayne had settled with someone like Rachel, he would have never needed to plan these kinds of things.

They stood in front of the workbench gazing at each other, then the young man schooled his worried expression into a neutral stance. "Master Wayne," he finally asked, "you're aware of the dangers you'll be facing if you continue with this plan, aren't you?"

His charge answered simply, "Yes."

"She won't like it, sir."

"Yes." Alfred didn't respond this time; he was busy wondering if his charge was developing another kind of death wish. "She won't be pleased, but I can deal with her—displeasure." Alfred didn't speak so he went on, scowling. "Did you search the manor? Stashes?"

"I did, twice, nothing came up but she could be more thorough than us. She might have hid something on the grounds."

"I've been keeping a constant eye on her since she came back. She couldn't have stashed anything on the grounds." Alfred looked skeptical. Bruce continued, "But search again, we have to be sure. Pills?"

"I count each tablet every day as you instructed. Everything is in place. I'll deal with each of them tomorrow night."

Bruce nodded again, and advised thoughtfully, "Keep one on your person just in case, she might need it." He fished out a small tranquilizer gun out of his pocket and set in on the workbench. "If she turns out to be too much to handle till I get back, use this."

Alfred's eyebrows cocked up incredulously. "Master Wayne, you're certainly not asking me—"

"I want her in, Alfred," Bruce cut him off acutely, and repeated his words back to him. "She won't like it."

This time Alfred sighed. He suspected other billionaires might have had their butlers search through their manors to look for secret stashes for drugs but he was also sure none would ask their butlers to knock their girlfriends out in case they turned out to be too much to handle. Bruce pushed it toward him. "Use it the moment you feel she might slip out. And the keys to of all the cars and that damn bike?"

"I'll put them all in the batpod. Are you sure she can't hijack them?"

"They have smart keys. She can't bypass them without a device."

"What if she has one?"

"Well," his charge grunted out, "in that case, Alfred, aim the tranquilizer well."

Alfred sighed again. Tomorrow night was going to be a long night.

* * *

_A/N: Bruce Wayne is the Alpha Male, with the cave and all, no one can argue with that, I guess. :)_

_I think Selina's tagline is gonna be 'She doesn't do legwork', and of course this one; 'Life would have been much easier if she didn't have this conscience.' I believe it's also canonly the first line of Selina Kyle in the comics, which I adore a lot._


	10. The Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone

_A/N: Second page? Blasphemy!_

_For Valerie's duality I've always used Triple Goddess concept; hence this chapter's sub-title._

_From the maps I discovered online, I think Wayne Manor and Arkham Asylum should be close to each other, but for the sake of being logical, I took some liberties with it, and placed it at the opposite side of Pallisades. Let's call it artistic license._

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Eight: The Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone**

* * *

Valerie checked the dots, adjusted the frequencies and tugged her earpiece in. "You're good to go," she informed with an even, down to business, tone while eating another bite of yogurt. "Are you following Richard's trail tonight? Or will you just make a routine patrol first?"

"I'm going in tonight."

The spoon in her hand stopped in the air, and then was dropped into the plastic can. "What?"

"Everything is settled. I'm going in tonight."

She set the food aside beside the keyboard. "No, you are not. You're scheduled for next week."

"I changed the plans."

She balanced her hands on the edge of the bench, and hissed furiously, "I'm on my way."

"Stay in," _Batman_ grated evenly. "You know where Arkham is—" Yes, she did, at the skirts of Gotham, just the opposite of side of Palisades, almost an hour away even at her best speed. She let out a breath out, her jaw clenched with anger. "By the time you can make it here, I'll already be gone."

She checked the dots. "Do I look like a fool? You aren't in the vicinity of Arkham City. You're in down town."

"I mucked up the trackers," he answered simply.

"You did what?!"

"I mucked up the trackers," he repeated.

"BRUCE WAYNE," she wailed, "_ARE YOU INSANE?_"

"Alfred, run the diagnosis."

She turned aside to give Alfred a killer look. "So you two were scheming behind my back the whole time?"

"Valerie, we'll talk about it when I get back," Bruce said, "Stay in."

"_Like hell_—" she hissed out between clenched lips. "I'll figure something out."

"It's pointless now," Bruce stated the obvious, and stressed once again, "Stay in."

"You _can't_ order me," she spat, and hopped down, then heard Bruce's stern voice again but it wasn't directed to her.

"Alfred, if she takes another step—_don't_ hesitate."

She spun around and saw Alfred pointing a tranquilizer at her. Her eyes widened then just when she was about to spat out a very colorful brutal answer, her phone chirped to warn her that she'd received a text message. Her gaze lowered down from the tranquillizer, and she fished it out of her back pocket, and read the message, then tucked the phone back in her pocket. She sat on her seat. "You know what, Bruce?" she said, voice heavy with hurt and fury, "Do whatever-the-hell you want. Right now, I'm not sure if I care."

* * *

His eyes traveled over Arkham's landscape, a gloomy looming figure in the fading moonlight, matching equally with his current mood. He'd needed to do it, he'd needed to—had to protect her…He turned off his thoughts, steeled his mind and tried to find the anger that always slithered under his skin, just at arm's length, and found it slipping out of his reach. That must have been worry, he knew, he knew it too well, and before he could block them out, it brought back memories; Rachel's face as she lost consciousness as he drove her to the cave, and Harvey's screams as she...no, not again, not another one, _never again_... He started the sonar device.

Tonight this thing was going to end, then he was going to deal with Valerie. He didn't exactly know how but he was. He was not going to lose her. Not again, not another one. As he jumped down over the edge that he was perched on, alarms went off in every direction.

This was his second time breaking into the asylum, but unfortunately this experience was one of those things that practice didn't make it any better. Arkham City was a dangerous place, now more than ever, and if even one of the intimates managed to escape because of tonight, he would need to face serious consequences.

He took out the tablet pc from his utility belt and started to connect the device to the sonar phone he'd planted earlier in Dr. Arkham's office when he'd met with him two days ago. He pulled up the 3d modeled version of the asylum and Bruce started to look for the ward that held Crane. One and half a minutes; the device he'd attached to the hub was giving him one and half a minutes to reach to Crane's ward before the systems started to lock down.

And during that time, he needed to make sure no one escaped, find Crane and get out before the exits sealed. After the lockdown there was going to be no escape, he was one hundred percent one sure of it. He had made sure of that. _Personally._

The guards came, heavily armored and with every step down the hallway, he had to take two of them down before he reached Crane's door. He plastered a small charge on the lock and pressed on the detonator.

The former doctor was crouching on the bed, in his scrubs, with a funny look on his face but before he could say something, Bruce pulled him against his chest, secured him and threw another charge at the window. The bars and glass shattered and he jumped out pulling Crane along behind him.

As they fell, he heard the lockdown starting behind them. He opened his arms, reactivated the statics and hoped that the cape would carry both their weight. Fox had assured him that it would—there were some nano-particle improvements and he trusted Fox's vision. And his trust was rewarded as they floated through the air, Crane whimpering into his chest. He moved his arms to set the course for the tumbler, and then dove.

Upon touching on the ground he severed their link, threw the belt aside, and lifted the man from the ground by his neck. "Who'd you give the formula to?"

"Having hallucinations now?" the former doctor sputtered out. "You really need to start seeing someone. It's not healthy."

"Someone's spreading the fear toxin again," Batman growled out.

"So I—heard," Crane answered. "Not my doing, I was sitting here with my former colleagues, making diagnoses at each other."

He tightened his fingers around his neck. "Who did you give the formula to?"

"No one. I don't share my secrets."

For once his murderous reputation would work to his advantage. He tightened his grip more. "If you don't talk, you won't live long enough to regret it."

Crane choked out a cough mixed with a laugh. "Now, wi-will I? I spent some quality time here with your new fan…" He coughed again as Bruce slammed him into a tree, a raw growl erupting out of his chest. "We have some common interests, and he had some interesting stories about Harvey Dent."

He dropped him. Crane burst out laughing-coughing, hysterical—much too close to his demon. "Ah—he was right—you're _sooooo_ fun."

He picked him up again by his collar, hit him against the tree, and. "WHO'D YOU GIVE THE FORMULA TO?"

Crane choked out with another maniacal laughter. "To no one. As you can observe, I'm very good at keeping secrets."

With a sick frustration, he knocked the former doctor out.

* * *

Long legs carried her effortlessly with agitated grace as Valerie paced through the cave like a caged lioness. One that was hurt and consequently very dangerous. First Bruce and his special-brand of arrogant idiocy then now apparently she had completely fallen to Selina's beck and call. '_Next week, you're going to his club'_ Just like that, just a single fucking text-message, like the damn witch didn't even need to bother with calling.

At the moment she wasn't sure which of them she wanted to hurt more. _'I changed the plans.'_ The nerve of him! _'Stay in, it's pointless now.'_ She snarled with irritation taking another turn beside the waterfall, her eyes riveted ahead, refusing to acknowledge Alfred who stood beside the workbench, with the gun _still _resting on it.

Just before she threw her head back and let out a roar, Bruce's distinctive rasp rang in her ear. "I'm dropping him off."

She returned to the station, checked the screens that Alfred had run a diagnosis and fixed it back to normal. "_Clear_," she spat.

"Okay, I'm coming back."

"Good," she just said. Good. Good girl, good Valerie, always behaving, always obeying; tamed. She seethed through clenched lips and turned to Alfred. "I'm going up. _Am I allowed to?_"

He nodded without a word. She nodded back, and left, left for her room, hers, not Bruce's, not that she could even call it _hers,_ but that was just another can of worms that she didn't want to open now.

* * *

All for nothing—nothing—other than finding out that Crane knew about Harvey Dent—and there was still Valerie…Valerie who probably was going to tear the whole manor down on his head when he returned.

When he entered the cave, Alfred was alone, waiting for him. He jumped down, already stripping off the cowl and in the middle of taking his armor off. "Where is she?" he asked, tearing off the cape, looking around. "Where did she go?"

"Upstairs," Alfred responded.

"Why did you let her go, Alfred?" Bruce demanded furiously. Tonight was getting only worse and worse.

"Master Wayne, she's hurt and angry. She needs some space to herself."

"Do you know what she can do with that space, Alfred?" or whom, depending on her mood, or both, at the same time…

"You always say we need to trust her."

"I trust her," he snapped back. "I trust her." He sighed this time. "How well did she take it, Alfred?"

"Quite well, actually, better than what we expected," he paused, "But I took the liberty of cleaning the hall of antiques, just in case."

Bruce nodded as Alfred said hesitantly. "The former doctor said he knew—"

"Not now, Alfred."

Alfred nodded. "There is something else too. She received a text message. She was fuming before, but after it came, she subsided and sat down."

He scowled. "Did she say anything?"

"No."

Bruce went to hunt her then. Expectedly she wasn't in their bedroom, and he was surprised when he saw her sitting on the couch in her room with the door ajar. He pushed the door back fully, then paused at the threshold and looked at her. She seemed to be fresh from the shower, her wet hair trailing down over her shoulders, a short robe covered her body, legs stretched out as she sipped wine slowly, her eyes flicking to him as he planted on her doorstep. "May I come in?" he asked finally.

She turned her eyes away and took another sip from her big wine glass. "If I didn't want to see your sorry face, Bruce Wayne, I'd have surely locked the door."

Bruce gave her a heated look. "Valerie, there is no lock that could keep you away from me. But if you want to be alone, I'll take my leave—for tonight."

She lifted an indifferent shoulder up, but didn't respond. He walked in. "Valerie, baby—"

"Don't call me baby."

"Valerie, I couldn't have you—"

"I know, god help me, but I know," she admitted evenly, stood up, and set the glass on the coffee table. "It's the only reason why we're still having this conversation, that you're still having me in front of you to have _any_ conversation. But I don't want to hear your excuses—your apologies—" She walked over the bed, and sat on it. "You don't need to explain, I understand. I don't accept but I understand."

He looked at her suspiciously. "So we're good?"

She shrugged again. "No raising hell—wreaking havoc?"

She shrugged once more. "Why bother? I'm not accomplishing anything, am I?"

"So can we go back to bed?" he asked, still not quite believing it.

She shook her head, and answered sternly, "I'm already in bed. I'll stay here tonight, in my room, in my bed. I'll not come to yours, but you're—welcomed in mine if you wish."

His eyebrows rose up skeptically. "Valerie, you're not planning to kill me in my sleep, are you?"

She lifted her head to give him a hard stare. "Let me be clear then, Bruce. I know you're worried that your dear relapsed drug and sex addict might try to slip away to take drugs and/or fuck strangers, and oddly enough I don't want you to poison your sleep with these worries. It was a hard night for you and I'm fine, I won't have a break down, and I know you won't be satisfied unless you see it with your own eyes. So you can stay, but don't get any ideas. There will be no rolling in the sheets."

"I wasn't worried about that," he answered.

"Liar," she shot back laying down on the bed. Bruce stripped down off his clothes till he was in his underwear and lay next to her.

"May I hold you?" he asked hesitantly. Valerie shook her head sighing, then nodded. He pulled her against his side, draped his arm over her waist. She didn't do herself. He sighed too. "I think I'd be more at ease if you broke something on my head."

"Accustomed behavior gets accustomed soon enough, unaccustomed ones disconcert; never let anyone guess how you'd react in the face of any crisis, doll."

His brows pulled into a frown. "Another gem from your father?"

She lifted another indifferent shoulder, pressed on his chest, "Yeah."

"So there will be some retribution in other ways?"

"Of course. For example, you'll be waiting for _that shoe_ to be coming at your stone-head."

"I think I can manage."

"Liar," she shot back again.

"I managed it for years, but can you?" he asked and continued, "Valerie, you called yourself a sex addict just minutes ago."

She titled her neck up and gave him a look. "Bruce, you really want to talk about it now? I mean, really? In case it's escaped your attention, I'm not up for any heart-to-heart right now."

Sighing, he passed a hand through his hair. "You sound like we can have a heart-to-heart any time we like." He paused only for a second. "Did they diagnose you with that too?"

She pulled back, rested her head back on her pillow. "You can't diagnose anyone as a sex addict," she chided. "For god's sake, you know nothing about Psychology? It's not listed as a personality disorder in ICD-10."

"You know quite a lot about it," he stated matter-of-factly, "Enough to pass yourself a psychiatrist."

"Of course," she shot back. "You certainly don't think that I'd leave my mental well-being in the hands of a bunch of little bitches who like to talk a lot for your benefit, do you?"

Bruce made out a noise out of his lips resemblance faintly to a laugh, "Of course."

"There was talk about hyper sexuality but the general consensus was that my nymphomania is more like a defense mechanism caused by my other—issues." She laughed wearily at the look on Bruce's face. "Don't look like that, like you don't know all about it… how was it? _'You use sex as a weapon to prevent yourself to form any kind of emotional bonding.'_"

"I'm—sorry," Bruce muttered.

"Don't be," she replied back simply. "If you didn't do that, we wouldn't be here," she said, then her face became more serious. "And I'm glad to be here, Bruce, despite everything."

"I'm glad to be here too, Valerie," Bruce replied with the same seriousness. Valerie looked at him, then rolled over to climb on him and kissed him slowly. "I thought I was being punished," he commented as his hands started to run through her back, and loosened the robe over her shoulders.

"I can change plans too," she murmured, "Besides we sex addicts are known for our inability to resist temptation."

Bruce turned them around and pulled back a little to unfasten the belt of her robe. He put his hand on her cheek, and looked at her as he entered her. Her head titled up, it twisted in something half pleasure and half pain, and she moaned. Bruce leaned forward and kissed her with everything he had.

Once again, she couldn't do anything but cling to him like she was holding on for dear life as he sucked it out of her.

x

That night nightmares returned.

_Of course._

She recognized the house as soon as she found herself inside it, her bare feet not making a sound as she walked around, whispers of the branches creaking in the wind was still the only sound in the house.

Valerie sighed, as psychedelic nightmares went, hers were getting a little too scripted. Then at the end of the hallway, she saw the room. Sighing, she went toward the door and upon seeing its occupants, she barked out a derisive laugh, and walked in, throwing her hands in the air. "Ah…just the company I was looking for in my dreams—" She smiled at both at them. "Come to torture me?"

Her evil twin—there was no other word to describe her that she could think of—curled her lips down, and turned to Jason. "Was I always that dramatic, papa?"

"Don't call him that," Valerie spat back. "He's not our father. He doesn't deserve to be called a father."

"Duality—already?" Jason asked lifting up one eyebrow. "What is he doing to you, doll?"

"He's making me soft, dad," the other her answered, "With his lovey-dovey things he's making me soft—wants to tame me—wants to break me…"

"Don't talk like that—" Valerie snapped, "He doesn't. And you're not me."

"Of course, I'm you, silly, and you're me…"

"You weren't saying that before—"

Her evil twin gave her a wolfish grin. "I see the moon and the moon sees me, the moon sees somebody I'd like to see—"

Valerie fumed in annoyance. "I'm more."

The other her turned to Jason, amused. "You know, father, this is Bruce talking, not me."

"Can't you just go away," she cried out, "I don't want you two in my head!"

"We're here just because you want us here, pumpkin."

"I don't want you here, go away, leave me in peace," she cried again. "I'm happy!"

"Ah…happiness," the other evil half sighed weakly, "the most sinister prison ever created. I didn't learn anything at all."

"I've learned enough! I'm not getting soft. Bruce is _not_ making me soft!"

Both of them snickered then her evil twin looked at her with disdain. "Some heart breaker you are. Did you get your revenge? Did you make him sorry for what he did tonight?"

"Oh, it is me, now, isn't it?"

"So soft," she spat, and shook her head. "Pathetic, letting him fuck you like that… If there was a society somewhere out there for heart breaking bitches, they would have surely kicked your sorry ass out for tonight's failure."

"It _wasn't_ a failure," Valerie shook her head. "He cares about me, wants to protect me, because he loves me!"

"_Love_—" she seethed, "she talks about love while I talk about revenge."

"I'll take my revenge!"

"What are you going to do—" She barked out a derisive laugh, "Poison him with your _love_? You want to see some real revenge taken, go to that crazy bitch, sit and learn how to make someone sorry for daring to cross you." She threw her a mocking smile. "Assuming she won't send you to run another errand first, of course…_so soft._"

"I am not!"

"Doll—give her a break—look at the poor thing," Jason laughed. "She's about to burst into tears, even in her dreams."

"I am not! I am not a poor thing." Tears ran from her eyes… "I'm not…" She wasn't… she was… she was… what the fucking hell she was? "FUCK OFF!" She screamed then, "FUCK YOU BOTH!"

Her eyes popped open as she awoke suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath, and felt tears in her eyes. Then she noticed Bruce's arm that was still draped across her waist, his leg tangled with hers, his grip tight, as if he was afraid if he loosened it, she might have slipped out of his reach.

She felt her breath catch in her throat... She choked on a sob. Bruce's eyes opened and he gazed at her groggily for a second before a scowl appeared on his brows and he asked gently, "Baby, nightmares?"

Fucking! stupid! man! Had to know everything—could know everything by just one look, like she was stripped bare in front of him. She pried herself out of his grip with a shriek and kicked him off the bed. "GET OUT!"

"DON'T LOOK AT ME! GET OUT," her hands found something—she couldn't know what was it, or how much did it cost—she threw it at him. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BED."

"Valerie—" He called to her, ducking, "calm down, baby, please."

"DON'T CALL ME BABY! I'M NOT YOUR BABY. I'M NO ONE'S BABY!"

Bruce rose to his feet and wrapped the sheet around his waist. "Valerie, let's be civil, okay? Let's talk."

She stood up, and forced him—pushed him to the door. "I DON'T WANT TO TALK!" She opened it, and shoved him out of the room. "I DON'T WANT TO BE CIVIL!" She closed the door in his face and locked it.

She picked her robe from the floor and put it on, slipped on six inches heels and smeared red lipstick over her lips. She tilted her chin up and looked in the mirror.

No, she wasn't growing soft. They would see.

x

"Hi, Jeremy," Valerie said into her stashed pre-paid phone, sitting on the edge of the tub in her bathroom. She didn't think Bruce had wired her bedroom, but she wasn't taking any chances. She wasn't growing soft.

"Hey—" Jeremy exclaimed, and went on like they'd just seen each other last night instead of years ago, and that she'd just called for a little chat. "What's up?"

"Fine, darling, you?" she answered back in a silky Irish tone.

"Back at you, gorgeous—" he hesitated for a second, "Where have you been, sexy? The poor silly straight men of London have missed you a lot."

She laughed. "Around," and continued with a more business tone, "I need a favor."

"Whatever you ask, Fi. You know, you're always my best kind of people."

"Smoldering hot piece of meat?"

"Nope," he quipped, "paying handsomely."

"Jeremy," she drawled out, "always down to business." She paused for a second then started to talk. "I need you to look up something for me. Twin cat statues from ancient Egypt, I heard that they turned up around London, new players… sniff around a little bit, will you for me? I'll make it worth your while, like every time."

"Sure thing," Jeremy answered indifferently. "Give me a couple of days, and call me back later. I'll look around."

"Ok, see you, darlin'."

She closed the phone and smiled a cat smug smirk. First revenge was in the works. Now it was time to deal with the other.

* * *

Bruce looked at her bedroom door, dumbfounded and fastened the sheet tighter around hips. "Master Bruce?" Alfred's baffled voice asked behind him.

He pivoted his body to give Alfred a look, and started to explain. "She kicked me out. She was being—reasonable at first—said she understood, we had even a little talk then we—um, I apologized to her, and she slept—then she woke up in the middle of the night and started to scream like a banshee and kicked me out of the bed—out of the room."

"Hmm—"Alfred said, "Will you go back to your bedroom, sir?" Bruce shook his head, Alfred nodded, "Thought so."

"She's started to have nightmares again, Alfred." He sat down on the floor, and rested his back on the door's frame. "I hurt her, _again_. She might try to slip away. It's the only way out—I can't let her go."

Alfred nodded again. "I'll bring you a pillow, blanket and your pajamas, sir."

Bruce smiled a gracious little smile and dropped his head backwards. Alfred returned five minutes later with his bundle. He changed into his pajamas, threw the pillow at his back, and covered himself with the thin blanket.

He listened to the sounds coming from her room—and the familiar clicking of her heels, he frowned…Heels? Then they stopped, and he heard the slight creaking of the bed, and he sighed in relief…

He was woken by something poking at his side, and he opened his eyes to look groggily up at Valerie, standing at her doorstep, a frown creasing her brows. She pulled her foot back. "Bruce, darling, what are you doing down there?"

"I—" he stuttered then looked back at her, frowning. "Oh, we're back to darling again."

She smiled down mockingly. "Were you guarding me like—" Her hand waved back and forth over his body, "this?" she snickered dryly, "Even a twelve year old could have ditched you, darling."

Feeling frustrated, Bruce stood up and closed in on her. "Since you've started to behave civilly again, can we talk?"

"Why?"

"You literally kicked me out of the bed last night, Valerie."

She shrugged. "You were snoring."

"Valerie," he warned sternly.

"Well, you were saying that you would feel more at ease if I broke something on your head, and I did." She gave him another smile. "It's not my fault that you can't decide on what to feel, Bruce."

She started to walk away from him, and Bruce caught her at the elbow and pulled back. "You got a text message last night. From whom?"

She gave him a look, as her lips parted with a lazy smirk. "Jealous?"

"Who was it?" he growled out.

"The man I was dancing with at Liquid Heart."

"You didn't give him your number," he stated with a stony voice.

"Mm…didn't I?"

"You were just dancing—"

"He came later when you went for drinks, asked for my number."

"And you gave it to him?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, he asked very kindly. And you know I like nice men, not mean ones. So be careful 'cause I might decide to take him up on his offer in any time."

He pushed her down on the wall. "I'd like to see you try," he hissed out. "And stop it. You're acting like this because you had a nightmare last night."

Her eyes widened, she chewed her bottom lip, and nodded as they watered. Bruce took another step forward, "Worst of my life, Bruce—"

"Baby—"

"Bruce—"she panted out, voice husky, "MAC was stopping the production of Russian Red, can you imagine it?"

Bruce closed his eyes, as her lips twisted up in a sardonic smile, and she touched his shoulder with her fingertips and shoved him gently out of her way. She walked down the hall, her hips swinging sultrily as Bruce dropped his head, and sighing deeply.

His charming red lipped she-devil had returned.

* * *

_A/N: So we came to this point. Yup, Valerie is nymphomaniac, but I'm not sure if it's flash news or anything :) You should have guessed it by now, frankly. :)_

_I pondered long how Valerie would react faced with such a 'crisis' but then I settled that unpredictability would be the best course of the action; first taking it graciously well, then losing her s'it because she did take it well. And then making a stupid mistake, and comprise her identity. When people tell me how smart, and ruthless she is, I usually say no, she's not, she's very stupid, because her impulsive and reckless nature drives her to make mistakes that bring her very hard positions. And this is the last example._

_See ya with the next one._


	11. The Long Game

_A/N: Okay, allow me move the plot to its place a little before I resolve the situation between Bruce and Valerie. So little Bruce and Valerie this time, but trust me, in due time, I'll resolve everything. This is a story about finding Ithaca, and a story more about the journey itself, not the destination. Odysseus is a legend because of his journey, and the challenges he's had to face to find his home back again. _

**Chapter Nine: The Long Game**

* * *

_**Four months ago:**_

Mr. Crews couldn't probably understand how her mind worked but nevertheless he tried. They placed another call, and Mr. Crews spouted quotes absentmindedly while waiting for it to bounce around the globe. "It is best to win without fighting."

"Sun Tzu?" Mr. Walden asked with thoughtfulness.

Mr. Crews let out a delighted laugh. "And of course you had to know it, my fine friend."

"So this is—"

"Diversion and deception, gentlemen," her accent less voice came from behind them. They turned around. "The very best tools to win without fighting."

"This," Mr. Crews waved his hand over the elegant device making the call, "will definitely divert him for a long time, Mistress."

She nodded curtly. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Crews."

"To catch a snow leopard, first you have to sacrifice a blue sheep," Mr. Walden commented.

Mistress looked at his friend as Mr. Crews' brows creased. "I don't know who said that." Mr. Crews admitted.

"Why, Mr. Crews, I think your friend Mr. Walden just did." She gave them a long look. "But not exactly; in the times of war when everything goes well, a fool winds down and enjoys the brief peace, but a smart warrior asks _why_ everything goes well."

Her lips twisted up. "Patience is a virtue, gentlemen, and I am very virtuous. My enemy, my prey—let him be diverted with a few delicately chosen obstructions, let him win this war—and let him live thorough his peace time—let him enjoy the brief joys of life. Let his arrogance grow more with tiny victories. And then just as he thinks his path is walked in triumph, just as he thinks he has achieved what he claims, just as he thinks he's the victorious one, then I shall strike." She fixed them a look again. "Make no mistakes, gentlemen, when the time comes, there will be fighting, lots of fighting."

They stayed silent for a second then Mr. Walden misquoted, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

Mr. Crews turned to him as he picked up with the corner of his eyes that Mistress was doing the same. "Years ago, Mr. Walden," she said, "the very night I was sent into exile I made an oath that I will not regain what I had lost before my dagger tasted the imposter's blood," she spat the imposter like venom. "And if I am not to regain my honor, then my dagger should instead taste the blood of the man who denied me from fulfilling my oath." She paused for a second then asked evenly. "What news have you brought me from the Quakemaster?"

Mr. Crews answered with the same evenness, "He reassured us that the drawings will be ready in four months, Mistress."

She nodded, her face set in decisive thoughtfulness, and Mr. Crews knew the time was coming.

His hands itched, his blood pressure rose, fighting...there was going to be a lot of fighting. He turned to Mr. Walden, and smiled.

Mr. Walden smiled back.

* * *

Every day started same for Talia al Ghul, an endless repetitive torturous routine before she walked out of her apartment downtown.

Her bed faced the long windows looking out on Gotham's scenery but long velvet curtains hung down to protect her from the attention of any peering assassin. She was in exile, had been for a long time, and she had learned to live through its rules. Waking not seeing the sun rising above the horizon was shameful, but she was accustomed to carry too much shame by now.

But still every morning when she woke up, just before the dawn, she opened up her curtains and looked at east, toward her home as the sun rose. Every morning she took a shower, combed her hair with one hundred strokes, and took the small wooden embroidered box, the only thing she had been allowed to take with her before she was sent away… Naked except for the simple grey short wool coat, hands chained in front of her; her face, hair, body covered with dirt, mud, and blood, in shame— and while the cortege left, just once, just once, she had dared to look back, tears burning her eyes, and drew blood from inside her cheek to keep them at bay.

Her father had turned his head away, as that outsider imposter had looked at her back, with incredible sadness, with incredible pity. At that moment, in that breath, she had made her oath. She had failed once but she was not going to fail again. She would take her revenge, she couldn't get anything back, but at least she would have her revenge. Her dagger would be soaked in his blood.

She opened her first drawer and took out the small box; inside there were three compartments, one held a piece of coal pencil, another the powder of wild Himalayan roses that blossomed only in spring, and the last held a leather pouch that contained the smashed seeds of the Gunjia plant, blood red, and poisonous.

First she took the coal and painted her eyes, then watered it and smeared it on her lashes and she took the wild rose powder and brushed her cheeks. For last she took the leather pouch, and painted the smashed seeds over her lips. Like every time since her womanhood the plant burned her skin, the pain had grown more moderate as the time passed, but it still burned, and she drew in one short breath, only one, then swallowed the rest of the sobs like she always did. Only one breath, she had been allowed, and despite her exile, she was still Khrimseshi, and despite the time—despite the years she spent among them, she was not going to turn into one of them.

Never…never.

She lowered her silky embroidered nightgown and put on the outlander's clothes; shirts, skirts and jackets, stockings and high heels, and every time she remembered her gowns, silky and floating; the hem of her skirts flapping around her legs as she twirled around, the sword in her hand clashing against her opponent's, the steel ringing in the cold, cruel air of the Himalayas, and her father looking at her appreciatively.

She hated the outlander's clothes as much as she hated the outlanders themselves.

Still she put them on, every day—every night; she talked like them, she acted like them, she joked like them, she laughed like them, she drank like them, and every second piled another ouch of shame upon her shame, and every second she carried it like a chain hung on her neck.

She straightened her shoulders, pushed Talia back, plastered a smile on her lips and walked out of her apartment.

She walked toward the Wayne Building, the long tower, planted like a mockery for the divinity of the mountains—how she hated this thing called skyscrapers—but still she held her smile in place.

She walked through the tollgate—"Good morning, Ms. Tate."

Talia al Ghul, the exiled princess, the former Khrimseshi of the League of Shadows turned to the outlander commoner and smiled back.

She was not going to fail this time.

* * *

Sprawled over the cushions in the summer garden of her newly purchased Good Life Spa, a big straw sun hat hiding most of her features, and a lazy, pleased smile on her lips, Valerie was enjoying herself immensely as she basked in the last remnants of summer sun.

She was a lucky girl; the weather was terrific, the grass was still green, the cocktails were fabulous and the cute guys who brought them were such a delight to look at. She was one lucky girl indeed.

Or at least she was until something obscured her light. She didn't need to open her eyes to find out what it was. She waved her hand lazily. "Shoo, you're blocking my sun."

The shadow didn't move. "You're unbelievable," it said instead.

She opened her eyes, pulled the front of her hat up, and leaned forward on her elbows. "You were going to buy it, darling, eventually. I just saved you the hassle." She leaned back again, the lazy smile on lips twisting into a cat smug smirk. "You're welcome by the way."

"Correction, you're impossible," Bruce shot back, still towering above her. "Just because you needed retribution you _bought_ this—"he waved his hand around, "—thing."

Valerie shrugged. "You were going to buy it," she repeated then lowered her hat down back dismissively. "I don't take no as an answer all the time."

"And you can't always get what you want."

She tilted her head to find his eyes. "But I can get quite a lot. Now, move that pretty ass of yours; you're really blocking my sun."

Bruce sent her a glare, grunted under his breath but moved away, only to kick the cushions out from under her.

She yelped as her ass hit the grass, "Bruce—you jerk—!"

He sent her a smirk. "How did you do it this time?"

She leaped to her feet, tore the hat off her head, and tossed it away. "Why, I forged your signature on the paper work, of course."

"You wouldn't need to if you'd _just_ decide on a surname in the first place." His voice rose as he gave her a knowing look. "But I guess you wouldn't do that now too, would you?"

The implication of his words couldn't be any clearer but she chose to ignore it anyway. "So would you give me enough of a loan to buy something like this?"

He moved forward and cupped her face with his hands. "Valerie, do you think I care what money you hold on your hands while you hold my heart within?"

She rolled her eyes, and Bruce dropped his hands. "Iyyk, you've started talking cheesy again." Then she smirked wolfishly. "But you see I was right again; for any lucky man that has my hands in his pocket, the wallet in there is really the least of his concerns."

He ignored her jab with a scowl, and got closer, "Go with West… it _surely_ suits you."

She stayed silent for a minute then slowly said, "Okay, I'll think about it." To her surprise, he dropped down on her cushions, and took his shoes off. "Bruce, what are you doing?"

"Since you went and bought this thing, my dear, we should at least make the best of it." He looked around taking his socks off as well and stuck them inside his shoes. "It's a nice place, I have to admit." He gave her a look. "You're really good at multi-tasking; killing two birds with one stone—"

"Being economical is my strongest suit. I don't bother to scratch without being sure to get at least two itches at once."

"I noticed." He took her hand, and settled her on the cushions. "Valerie, I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I know you don't want to hear my excuses but the truth is that I don't have anything else to offer. I only did—it because you're precious to me. But I don't regret what I did. I'm sorry how it turned out but I won't—lie to you when given the second chance I'd still do it if I had to." He paused for a second. "If you want to make me sorry, you already did. If you want me to sleep at your doorstep, I will, for days. If you want me asking for forgiveness, I'm already begging, but baby please, don't let us grow apart because of circumstances, because you're hurt and angry. You still wear my bracelet, you still stay, so be with me."

She bowed her head, brushed the bracelet on her wrist then let out a loaded breath. "Okay—you can come in my room, but you'll sleep on the couch. We're going back to friendship arrangements. And I'll try to be more—reasonable," she snorted, "you're really making me soft."

"No." He shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Hell you aren't."

"I make you resilient," he said, "More powerful, enduring. A stiff object snaps in the face of the first storm, Valerie, but a resilient one can endure even a hurricane. Despite everything you didn't try to run away from me."

She lifted her head. "Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne," she repeated, shaking her head, as her hand raised to touch his cheek, "you're—you're…unbelievable too, you know that?"

* * *

Miranda Tate looked at Gotham's landscape from the window in her office, her gaze stuck on east like each time. Thirty minutes until she shamed herself with the company of her enemy—acting like his subordinate, while he played a fool.

Her fingers fisted. Bruce Wayne—Bruce Wayne—the man who had stolen her revenge—her hope for going back home—the man who ruined her home was going to pay for his crimes, she was going to ruin everything he held dear, everything—from his most precious possession to Gotham itself—she was going to turn everything to dust—only then, only then when he lost everything—when the knowledge of his failure shamed him as much as he'd shamed her was he going to have her permission to perish.

She had failed with the imposter, but she was not going to fail with that outlander too.

First the head of their department walked in, a weasel of a man whose name she had to force herself to remember then he came to her office. For the past few weeks, he had insisted their meetings be held in her office, instead of his. She wasn't sure why but she could guess that it had something to do with his _kutiya._

Weeks ago, the woman had briefly worried her, but wonders of all wonders everything had gone better she could have dared to hope. Fools—each more fool than other—they had fallen in love. That was one of the times the stars shined upon her.

But there was something going on between them, Talia had sensed it. They had grown apart—their gestures—didn't seem as affectionate as before—not like the weeks before. Momentarily she let herself a quick grimace, if the _kutiya_ broke her prey earlier than what she aimed for, her displeasure was going to be very severe.

She tuned out the head of the department, his talk about picnics and such; foolish man—when she was finished here—his life was going to be so full of pain for just daring to talk with her—daring to order her—she swallowed down a sniff of hot anger remembering that she had demanded men lives for less.

She forced herself to swallow the anger—and smiled—time. There was a time for everything, and it was a long game they played.

* * *

_**Years ago...**_

When Henri Ducard first saw the Khrimseshi that everyone talked about he'd been at the monastery for almost a year, and the Khrimseshi had been away from home the whole time. He didn't know exactly what to expect—he was aware what the title meant— the Rightful One, probably for the throne of al Ghul so when he saw the young woman approaching the throne where Ra's al Ghul sat like a king—which he understood now it was what he was, Henri was a little bit surprised.

The monastery was a man's world—the only women he'd ever seen there were the midwifes who did the commander's and high lord's biddings. The rest of them didn't have that luxury, they took care of themselves—working was considered good discipline here, whether simply for punishment or for training. To think that Ra's al Ghul's heir was female—well, it was most unexpected.

Everyone bowed their head and knelt as she passed by, and he followed the example but with the corner of his eyes, he stole a glance; the woman—no a girl—for she was young, younger than what he'd thought at first—barely fifteen, at most.

She walked with a proud grace; her stance was of a true warrior, deadly and swift, her moves fluid, like a snake in the desert. She stopped in front of the throne, threw her arms out, until the long sleeves of her gown flared then she joined them in front, and knelt down, bowing her head. "My liege lord," she greeted her father.

"Ngey Khrimseshi, what news you have brought me from the West?"

"Justice has been served, my lord, as you commanded." Her voice was thick like it was coated with something raucous, but not like the women talked rough in bed—no, it was as if she was talking through the swollen lips.

"Rise," Ra's al Ghul commanded, and she did, slowly, again with moves that belonged to a dancer. "You have brought me such honor today, good daughter."

She bowed her head again, taking the compliment in humble silence. Then she left, without looking at them.

At night there was a feast, for she had returned with joyous news, but she was nowhere to be seen. Then before the night faded away, she walked into the dining hall clad in silky cream robes, her maid, an old woman with face full of wrinkles walked just beside her, half a step back, and whispered something in her ear. Her steps briefly halted, as she stared for a second ahead, then her eyes flickered left, toward him.

He caught her look, and for a moment looked back then he saw the anger. A foot stamped on his, and his swordmaster hissed, "Don't look back at her!" He turned his head, and arched his eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You—" His words stopped as he saw her approaching. She stood in front of Master Hullain, who bowed his head immediately, and nudged him to follow his example. He did. "Ngey Khrimseshi," Master Hullain greeted her respectably.

"Master Hullain," she said softly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her face, a heart-shaped small face, black eyes, high cheekbones, and full red lips… "Things have indeed changed in our home in my absence."

"My Khrimseshi—"

"Outlanders prowl inside our doors—"she hissed out, "shaming us."

He lifted his head up and looked at her. "My lady, it wasn't my inten—" she didn't move, didn't turn but with a swift motion he couldn't even see, her arm reached out, and a small blade, as long as her finger pointed at his jugular vein. Her eyes still fastened on Master Hullain, she said, "and they shame us more."

"My Khrimseshi—" Hullain said again.

"Talia," he heard Ra's al Ghul's stern voice behind his back. "Why do you point your dagger to my guest's throat, good daughter?"

She turned away, toward him, took a few steps back but looked above his shoulder, and he saw that her lips really were swollen. "He has shamed me, father."

"What did he do?"

"He looked at me, and addressed me."

"Did you allow him?"

"No."

"Then he has shamed you," Ra's al Ghul agreed and he coughed a little and interrupted them, "I didn't mean to—"

"But I can vouch that he doesn't mean to bring you shame, daughter," the old king-man said, interrupting him, "He doesn't know our customs."

"When is ignorance of the law pardonable for any offense, Ra's al Ghul?"

"Then he shall be punished."

She pressed the dagger further in his throat, he coughed again, "I—"

Her eyes flickered to him, and she hissed, "Silence."

"He will attend you for a month, until he acquits his debts to your honor. Lower your dagger, daughter."

"I will have not an _outlander_ as my retainer!" She spat out, he arched his brows.

"You are shaming me now, daughter, in front of my guest."

Suddenly she subsided, dropped her arm down, and dropped on her knee in front of him, and bowed her head. "Truth-speaker, I have brought shame on my liege lord, and father. Speak now!"

The old woman behind her spoke, "You shall retire to your quarters, my Khrimseshi, I shall come to join you soon."

She stood up, spun on her heels, and walked away. He looked at Master Hullain. "What's just happened?"

"My ignorant friend, you've just made yourself a very spiteful enemy."

He narrowed his eyes. "That old woman—truth-speaker—what does that mean?"

"What you think of. Aside Ra's al Ghul, there is only one who can speak to the Khrimseshi freely to keep her disciplined. Even the heir of Ra's al Ghul is subject to the law."

"Is she going to punish her?"

"Most certainly, it would shame her if she didn't."

He sighed. These people and their honor... An hour later, the old woman showed up. "You're expected in the Khrimseshi's chamber, Master Ducard."

He looked at the swordmaster, who nodded and slowly walked away.

A guard accompanied him until her chamber then stood in the front of her door when he walked in. She was clad in a white silk robe, a woman-child of fifteen, and when he looked closer, he saw tear stains on her cheeks.

She titled her head toward a pile of pebbles, and two empty bowls, and commanded, "Fill one bowl with stones, and when it's full, empty it into the other bowl, then start again; all night until dawn."

"What?"

"What kind of fool are you, outlander? You are still not allowed to speak to me."

He lowered his eyes and sat down in front of the pebbles. Idle work with no purpose… He had already learned that about these people, life in the mountains was hard, even punishments served a purpose. There was no idle work, there was nothing more shameful.

She watched him the whole night filling and emptying the pots, sitting on her armchair, her gaze burning fiercely into his head but he didn't raise his eyes. She didn't address him, and he didn't talk any further.

When dawn came, she stood up, walked toward him, and stopped just in front of the bowls. "A shameful punishment for a man who doesn't know anything about shame," she intoned softly.

He bit his cheek to swallow down a reply. "You may speak."

"I didn't mean to dishonor you, Khrimseshi."

"And what does an outlander know about honor?"

"That's what I seek to learn, Khrimseshi."

"Then we shall see," she turned back, dismissively. "Come back at nightfall."

Then he gathered that the swordmaster had been right. Last night, somehow he'd made himself a very spiteful enemy.

* * *

There wasn't any nightmares but sleep still wasn't as peaceful as it'd been, not like when she was securely pressed into Bruce's side, his arms wrapped around her waist tightly as she hugged him back, her head rested on his chest.

She felt the sun on her eyelids and opened her eyes, and saw Bruce watch her from where he lay on the couch.

She looked at him, and he looked back, and for a moment the intensity of his gaze stole her breath away. Then he smiled, the corner of lips slowly twisting up in his affectionate way as that same affection warmed his gaze, and light danced in his eyes, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat and her heart tightened in her chest.

She leaped on her feet, and ran to bathroom.

* * *

_This is what happens when you read a way too much Wheel of Time. This honor and shame thing of Talia inspired by Aiel code. As you noticed, I did also remove the whole Talia backstory much like Selinas' too, because well, nothing was known when I wrote this story, so everything after TDK is still AU._

_Next, the real Arkham Conflict Resolution, with food porn and all! ;)_

_See ya,_

_G._


	12. What Ithaca Means

_A/N: All right, here the Arkham conflict resolution._

_Enjoy_

* * *

_And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you._

_Wise as you have become, with so much experience,_

_you must already have understood what Ithacas mean._

_C.P. Cavafy, Ithaca_

**Chapter Ten: What Ithaca Means**

* * *

The sunset painted his office in a lovely warm orange as the door slid suddenly to reveal Valerie on his doorstep, with that look suggesting that she had something on her mind, and was more than determined to get her way.

Bruce sighed deeply and set aside the report he was reading. She stopped in front of him and announced with a clear voice. "I've decided to be—" she halted, he arched his eyebrow in the pause, "civil again. We're grown up individuals and there is no reason not to behave—" She paused again, taking another step forward, and finished, "—civilly." She bowed her head to capture his gaze. "Get up, we're going."

"Huh?"

"What part didn't you get, Bruce?" She pulled him to his feet. "We're going out."

"Where?"

"Can't tell," she dragged him towards the door. "It would ruin the surprise."

He arched one eyebrow. "Surprise?" he asked, voice laden with suspicion. She nodded. "You prepared a surprise for me?"

She nodded, "I most certainly did."

"Hmm, that's a surprise."

"Remember," she warned with a glare. "We're being civil."

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled. She broke their tangled hands, then slid his jacket over his shoulder and loosened the knot on his tie.

"Thought we were going out—"he said looking down at the jacket she had dropped on the floor, his heartbeat fastening with anticipation despite his words. Days…days—hours—minutes—seconds without her…

"We are. But you're too uptight."

He cocked one eyebrow up again. She took his hand again in answer, and ushered him outside. Then she drove him out of the city and stopped in front of a countryside Egyptian restaurant.

First he looked at the place, then at her. She took the half of his shirt out of his pants, loosening his tie even more. "Blue Lotus?" he asked, reading the sign as first two buttons of his shirt popped open under her fingers.

"I'm putting the Arkham conflict on hold indefinitely," she informed him. This morning after she had run to bathroom, looking in the mirror, she had decided. She was calling a definite truce on the issue and the Blue Lotus was going to be their negotiations settlement.

Bruce—her dearest stone headed idiot—was still the best damn thing that had ever happened to her, and she would be damned if she lost him because of some imaginary people that existed only in her mind… She wasn't growing soft, no, she was becoming resilient.

"You've been a good boyfriend, Bruce," she paused, "well, a few exceptions aside, and on fewer exceptions I might have been a little less than—a perfect girlfriend. I want to make it up to you. You seemed relaxed when we were in Egypt, and when you told me about that story—and I thought—you know…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't want to act like a mad woman. I want things go back to normal now—our normal… I've missed your company."

He took her hand then and kissed her fingers, his fingers caressing her pulse at the wrist, his bracelet wrapped around it. "I'm glad you decided to end this, Valerie. I've missed your company too."

She looked at him, nodded, then got out of the car. She leaned over the roof, slanting him a look. "So—you missed me throwing you out of bed?"

"Yeah…" He came to her side, wrapped his arm over her shoulder as they walked towards the entrance.

"Liar, you just missed being there," she shot back, slapping him on his ass.

"Valerie," he objected only half-heartedly, shaking his head.

"It's understandable, darling," she answered airily. "Anyone would, I do all of my best work in bed."

He gave a chaste kiss at the crown of her head. "I know."

She just smiled back.

The Blue Lotus was a more proper Egyptian restaurant than the ones in Egypt down to the slots by the door where customers left their shoes before entering, so dutifully he took off his Armani and watched Valerie take her heels off as well. They placed them on an upper shelf as a gently smiling Egyptian host greeted them with a kind and respectful 'good evening'. They trailed after him between the low tables and surrounding cushions, ducking under brightly colored, dimly lit lanterns, their feet not making any sound on the handmade carpets. The atmosphere was friendly, warm, and familiar, and felt good too, and he wondered briefly why he had never done this before.

The host pulled a beaded curtain out of way to reveal a private lounge, squeezed in the far edge of the corner and left them alone. Smiling, Valerie curled herself up on a pile of cushions while he sat at the side of the low table in the manner he had learned in Middle East years ago; his right foot planted on the floor with his knee resting close to his chest, and the other leg tucked underneath. With an automatic custom, his arm wrapped itself around her waist, and he pulled her over to him, pressing her against his side.

"Thank you baby," he murmured, bending his head towards her neck, and gave it a small kiss. There was a metal ewer already waiting on the table, he poured the liqueur inside two short round glasses and offered it to her.

She took it with a smile, and Bruce knew this was going to be their best reconciliation to the date.

His nose caught a pleasing scent before he took a sip from his glass. The Egyptian wine was sweet and light, leaving a warmth behind as it slid down gently to his stomach. He softly hummed in appreciation as a waiter came inside with a bigger ewer and he held his hands over the small basin on the table as the waiter poured the water over them. A second later, Valerie's hands joined his, and they tangled as they washed each other's hands playfully until the water ran out. The waiter calmly offered the towel dangling over his arm, and left taking the basin and ewer with him.

Valerie gently dried his hands first, then her own, her body slightly pivoted to face him as she did. She looked beautiful, so truly beautiful; her skin slightly reddened with heat, the faint freckles at the bridge of her nose more apparent without her concealer, she was more beautiful than ever, and he felt like he was going to share Tom's fate; his eyes were going to burn if he just looked one moment longer.

Catching her hands, he made her drop the towel, and bent his head to get closer. The waiter returned just before he touched her lips, lowering a large, round, metal tray to rest on top of the small table in front of them. Sighing inwardly, he pulled back an inch, his eyes catching on their meal. The tray was filled with a dozen small plates, and the aromas that reached his nose made Bruce think of _meze._ And of course, there were no utensils.

The waiter left them alone again, pulling the beaded curtain back to hide them from any prying eyes. Glancing down at the table, he saw Valerie already reaching out to take a rolled rice-and-meat tidbit between her fingers. "I should have guessed," he muttered under his breath, laughing and resting his back against the cushions at the low windows.

She offered the roll with a 'who me' smile, one of the best he had ever seen on her lips, as Bruce snapped his lips on her fingers, taking the dough inside his mouth. "Now, I could hardly to be held responsible for the way Egyptians eat," she protested coyly as he let her fingers withdraw.

Bruce rolled back his right sleeve to the elbow and reached for a small round fruit shaped like an olive, but with the texture of dried tomato, and dripping with a thick sauce. He brought it up towards her but just a little bit lower than her lips. She bent down, lowering her mouth towards his hand, and wrapped it around the fruit. "Egyptian's have already started—" He started but had to trail off as her tongue slid down his finger as she sucked the fruit in, and then followed the drop of sauce that was slowly rolling toward his palm. Her mouth… dear god, her mouth was just like how he had remembered it; hot and moist, and wanton, her tongue soft, her teeth firm as they nipped slightly at his fingertip on the way back up.

Straightening back, she flashed a sultry smile. "You were saying?"

Clearing his throat, he schooled his expression into a neutral state. "Egyptians have already started to use utensils."

She glanced down at the table, picking up a piece of boiled bean and vegetable dough towards his lips. "Why, all the more reasons to follow the old ways, someone has to sustain cultural preservation."

He snickered, falling back into the familiar bickering, and god, how much he had missed it…"You've such a golden heart, it never ceases to amaze me," then closed his mouth on the food. He leaned back, chewing the dough as a saffron-edged flavor coated his tongue. "I'm not sure this is the exact way though."

"Nonsense," she said, pointing another olive-tomato down at the table. "Cleopatra and Mark Antony used to feed each other all the time."

He watched her as she waited, wanton mouth half open, heavy misted eyes looking at him through her lashes. "I can imagine," he muttered, as her mouth wrapped around his fingers, the tip of her tongue popped out to flick at the sauce dripping off his finger like the last time, then she sucked loudly, humming from back of her throat. Bruce shifted on where he sat adjusting his pants to get more comfortable then she dropped her head backward a little. "Sauce—darling, gimme more of it," she murmured before taking her tongue fully out and twisting it upward.

Bruce snapped. Lust—and everything else he had been deprived off for days rocketed to a point he couldn't resist anymore; with a sudden act, he pushed her into the farthest corner, away from the beaded curtain, and buried his head in her neck. "Valerie…" He growled on her skin, even though the word came out close to pleading, "Valerie, have mercy on me."

She giggled throatily, saucy and thick, and very dirty as her hands started to wander around his navel then lower…"Oh, I will." Fast, slender fingers unbuckled his belt then popped open the first two buttons of his pants, and her hand crawled inside, and she clutched him. With her touch, his head dropped backward, and he grunted at the ceiling. "Val—" he rasped as she gave a pull and lowered herself towards his crotch, the other hand opening his zipper fully. "People—" He started with the last ouch of his reserves but she cut him off.

"Warned them to stay away after they brought the meal," she murmured, her breath tickling against his skin, so close to him, teasing. "I told you I'd make it up to you, darling. May none say that your girlfriend is not being—_civil_," she intoned, laughing and closed her mouth on him.

Heaven, he must have been in heaven, Bruce thought vaguely as his hand fisted at the base of her neck, pushing her down. She ran her tongue over his length, soft and moist, and her mouth was so hot as she sucked on him, twirling her tongue around, hallowing her cheeks while doing so… and his groans stranded at the back of his throat, he forced himself to stay silent, gave erratic breaths out, his fingers still fisted, pushing her down, and he thought…not heaven…he must have been somewhere else…even better.

The world shifted, then exploded, her mouth still fastened around him tightly, he shuddered in agony of bliss and she… swallowed. She lifted her head up, looked at him, a trace of his juice running just out of the corner of her lips. He pulled her upright and kissed her hard, tasting himself on her lips while his blood drummed in his ears.

He broke the kiss and looked at her. "Can you keep quiet?"

She shook her head, and admitted. "No."

Ignoring the roaring beast inside, he nodded, trying to formulate a plan then loosed his tie even more to pull it completely off his neck. He looped it through her neck then pulled it toward her mouth, and stuck it between her lips, tightening the knot. She looked at him with widened eyes, her mouth forced to stay open by the silk cloth, and he kissed her briefly, barely touching. "That should do it," he murmured against her lips.

She made a noise. He grinned and picked up the small olive-tomato plate with one hand as the other lifted her dress up, and pulled her slim panties over her legs. She watched him with heated eyes, glazed with desire—desire for him. He dripped the thick sauce over her inner thigh, over her fold then rubbed his hand over her thighs, smearing it over her skin. She moaned behind his tie, muffled and he nodded in appreciation. "You dirty girl…"

Her eyes fluttered shut and he shook her, hissing out a heated 'eyes open'. Valerie dutifully obeyed, as she always did, and he settled a few cushions behind the cushions they were sitting on, then rested her over them. "Watch me," he ordered again, bending her legs at the knee on the edge of the cushions.

He dropped himself on the floor between her legs, at the small space between the table and the cushions, and pushed her legs apart until she was completely open to his sight. He shoved another small cushion under her rump, and rubbed his sticky hands over her again. He bent down and made a long, wet trail over her inner thigh with tip of his tongue, , catching the rich flavor, and she trembled, moaning with muffled soft mews as soon as his tongue touched her skin. He grabbed her at her thigh to steady her within a forceful grip.

He blew out a breath before touching her just there, his breath tickling over her skin as she writhed on the cushions, his fingers dug deeper in her skin. He made her wait—like she had done to him, for days, trembling with anticipation, her body begging for his touch in its way. When he did, with the tip of his tongue, a gentle flick over the outer lips, she bucked, letting out a muffled groan. He flicked his tongue over her folds again, picking up the texture. Her hands flew to his shoulder, then to his head, long fingers messing his hair, pressing his head down towards her bundle of nerves as her body wriggled over the cushions with pleasure. He pushed his tongue inside, rubbed his nose over her skin, and shoved his tongue in her once again, trying to pick up her most sensitive points, but not getting near to her clitoris.

He picked up a rhythm, slow but steady, and she responded each thrust of his tongue by grinding her hips; one hand clutching him at his shoulder as the other mingled through his hair. Without lifting his head up, he flicked his eyes up toward her, and looked at her while he was slowly undo her with his tongue.

The sight of her, god, the sight of her… How he had missed seeing her like this… Breathing heavily, moaning, his tie running down over her neck, between her breasts into the skin of her deep cleavage, her head titled back, features twisted with pleasure, her back arched against the cushions, writhing... Again she looked like a mystical creature from the ancient times, a goddess, a nymph, claiming her pleasure; sleek, graceful, and his. His insides growled as he picked up his speed, and she picked up her muffled moaning.

Then he touched her clit. She constricted forcefully at the first contact, another muffled groan escaping from her clothed lips. He then ran his tongue over her bundle with short fast flicks, and she shot up from the cushions, her body twisted with pleasure. Her bent legs shook, and he forced her back down. He sucked harder as she arched, shoulders barely touching the cushions. Her muffled groans grew louder and she tossed her head around while her hands fisted around the cushions, her nails digging into the ornate cloth.

Without stopping he caressed her fingers. Another string of muffled moans escaped from her lips, and he folded his hand over hers. She was close, very close, he felt it, and he wanted to be inside her when it was happening. He had missed feeling her while she was shuddering into pieces, clutching him.

He pulled away and dropped her legs. Valerie protested with muffled sounds, reaching out to pull him back to finish what he had started but he caught them with one hand and angled her body, his eyes darkened as he unzipped his pants. He kicked them down over his hips and climbed on her. She immediately wrapped her legs around him and linked her ankles across his back like she always did, and he pulled his body up to an angle to penetrate deeper then slid inside.

She screamed—he knew she had, even though the sound came out as a load muffled groan, she had screamed and it made the blood in his veins heat further, and he couldn't help but accelerate. He caught her hands as they were digging into his back and brought them over his lips. He kissed her palms, then the pulse on her wrists. She made muffled 'Bruce' sounds, trying to move with him, he shifted his position again, and found that point; and she went wilder, and he went even wilder; and she was so good; so tight, so slick, so deep, so heated… so beautiful… He folded his hands through hers, and brought them up, above her head, and she pleaded with him, the words unrecognizable yet her expression was impossible to get wrong.

"Missed it?" he grated with each thrust, voice rough and breaking over above her lips. "Missed me fucking you?"

She made a long, "Phmmm."

"Yeah," he grunted out into her ear, pounding even harder, his hands still holding hers above her head, his forehead inches apart from hers as his eyes drilled into hers. "Want more?"

"Bruhce…"

"Say it."

"Missgghed igght...missgghed yhou…yhouoo…morreghh…"

"Then take it," he rasped out with a hoarse breath, driving in fully, barely keeping himself from growling, gathered both of her wrists above with one hand and tightened his grip as the other yanked the cloth out of her lips down, and he ordered before catching her lips into a searing kiss, silencing her screams, "come for me."

And she did, clutching him tightly, her lips pressed on his, she shuddered, and broke into million pieces. And as the world shifted around him, rapidly disintegrating into a chaos of agonized white pleasure, he did too, clutching her even tighter... then dissolved into her universe.

* * *

Blood singing, her heart pounding, panting hard, Valerie waited for the tremors to cease, gazing at the ceiling. She wanted to say something, something witty, something silly, something provocative, break the silence but for the second time in her life, nothing came to her. She knew exactly how to talk nonsense, but Bruce had taught her how to talk in silence too, words could be lacking but the meanings were there, hovering in gestures, his fingertips caressing her palms, and in glances and sideways looks passed and caught, his gaze mesmerizing as he forced her to keep her eyes open while fucking her like there was no tomorrow.

Damn it! Yet again another failure—even in the middle of another reconciliation Sex…sex with the same man, over three weeks, countless times, each more glorious than the last... It shouldn't have affected her this much, that tell-tale pull between her legs shouldn't have throbbed this much, the way he tightened his arms shouldn't have pounded her heart this much but it did, they all did, all the time. She had thought they had needed time, but it seemed she had been wrong—once again, yet again. Time wasn't doing anything but intensify things.

Despite her issues, she enjoyed sex, had always liked it, and she was very good at it. She was a damn fine actress, she could shape herself in any kind of mold but she never acted, never faked during sex, and one couldn't be an accomplished seductress if she did. Because people felt it, felt your pleasure, felt your bliss, they fed on it. And more than anything she loved that moment, that rush running through her veins like a forest fire, putting her aflame, and that sensation, when everything focused in a tiny point, and when it came, everything else faded to black, she held them tightly, closed her eyes and it didn't even matter if they held her back or not.

Truthfully, it was the closest thing to cocaine when it hit the bloodstream, every cell in the body sang with it and God's mercy, she was addicted, not to sex, not to drugs but to that sensation, to that glorious moment.

But it faded away, every damn thing in her life faded away; men turned into gaping fools, feelings turned into banality, monotonous and same, stretching beyond infinity and none one really cared. That was why quickies in restrooms were better, much, much better; there were no pretenses with something like that, just a need to satisfy, only an itch to scratch, no meaningless pleasantries, just…two lonely souls reaching out for mercy.

No matter what, no matter how different this thing was, no matter their passion and insecurities, it should have waned by now. Then she wondered if it was the thing they called love—a need—a hunger was never going to be satiated, a powerful compelling that couldn't be ignored, demanding full surrender. She grimaced at the ceiling. She couldn't close her eyes to what was obvious now, couldn't ignore its presence, couldn't over look its existence anymore. During the three weeks, however they had started they always had ended up in some of sort missionary position.

Bruce pulled her thong up over her legs and lowered her dress in his gentle but possessive way. He pulled her up, brushing the bangs off her neck, and whispered thickly. "What're you thinking about?"

She lowered her eyes, her heart still pounding. Momentarily, as a man on the brink of death wished for only one sole breath more—she wished she could have said all of it openly, that she could have torn her heart open and bled it all—everything—to the last little detail—but that wasn't how they talked. So she flashed him a smirk, caressed his hairline with her fingertips, and replied, "Sex."

He chuckled faintly. "Hmmm… Should I be worried?"

Prying herself from his clutch, she reached for the ewer. She poured the wine into her glass, and gulped the sweet liqueur down in one swallow. They pushed each other's buttons all the time, and she glanced down at his disheveled shirt and her finger found the first button, and pushed a little. "Bruce…don't feign cluelessness…it doesn't suit you."

His jaw clenched, the faint smile attached to his lips disappeared, as it tightened the habitual lines around the corner of his lips, and really, it was like nature's law… action and reaction. If she pushed him far enough, he would push back harder… and she could always shove harder. So she shoved.

"Bruce, do you really expect me to believe that you didn't realize what you were doing just moments ago?" Because manipulations, bargains, trading secrets, that was how they talked. "I didn't suspect you bottled it up this long. You never even mentioned it."

He gave her a look; a hard one, with a subtle warning edging it, and he was admirable, really, really remarkably admirable, Valerie thought; any lesser man wouldn't have done such a thing after a mind-blowing sex, sex with her, and she guessed perhaps all things considered she really did _admire_ him. "Really, Bruce, I feel elated." She circled her arms around his neck, laughing. "You were doing the exact thing that Ivanokovic tried to do. You enjoyed it."

His jaw twitched, then he shot back… pushed back, voice cool yet strained. "You didn't seem to be protesting."

She giggled, her fingers curling around his hair, and thought of other times. "Oh my, I wasn't, was I?"

"Valerie, I want to give you something different, to show you how sex could be…"

"I know exactly how it is," she bit out then realized she had misspoken, how it had been; she should have said how it had been. Pushed…pushed…pushed then caved in. She always did, in the end, always caved in. "It doesn't wear off, Bruce."

And her beautiful, manipulative, arrogant stone headed idiot of course understood what she meant. He always did. "And that's a bad thing?"

"It's… confusing." She flicked her eyes away, dropped her arms. "We've been playing like bunnies for what—a month now…? I thought we needed time; time to adjust—to get accustomed. Even with the bumps along the road, I expected things to return to…reasonable standards by now, at least I expected sex to return to my normal. But it is not, it's growing tenser."

His look softened as he let out a weary sigh. "Valerie it's been three weeks, but you are talking like we're together for three years. And this—_this_ wasn't just a simple act of intercourse—it was more than that, you know it. Emotions intensify with distance—by circumstances. We have—missed each other—a lot."

She shook her head. "No…you don't understand. I enjoyed it, Bruce, I enjoyed it too much. I—" She stopped, swallowed the rest of the words. The truth was that she wanted to be there, under him; begging, squirming, trapped, his weight pressing her down. She wanted to feel that, she wanted it, even when he sucked the life from her lips, even when his kisses devoured her, she couldn't help it. She wanted it. This wasn't thriving on violence in sex, this wasn't getting wild during sex. It was something more, more demanding more frightening.

"You were right before. You beat me at my game. That was partly why I was so pissed at you when you pulled that mean stunt on me. Sex is my fortress; the only thing has never let me down before…But now—" She trailed off once again. She'd noticed it first—for the first moment, at age fifteen when she had set her eyes on Danny's brother she knew; had realized that if she played the game well, she would never be ignored again—never looked over—passed over; nothing like that poor girl no one wanted, forgotten, cast out—all the lights would turn on while she passed by. God, the power, the sense of being powerful—how it felt to hold the reigns of your own destiny—_not a victim_…the first time in her life…but now…she was drifting away—resiliently drifting away through the hurricane.

But she forced herself to go, to let it all out—at least for one thing, oh god, at least for just one thing, she needed him, still, regardless of what seemed to be happening, despite everything, she was still glad to be with him, she still had no one but him. "I—I should have realized what you'd done. I should have seen your intentions clearly. But I couldn't. When we're having sex, everything else fades to black. I can't remember anything. I barely remember myself. Even now, I'm dripping wet, I'm throbbing with need, I want you inside me. It's like I'll never be satisfied again, this—this hunger will never be satiated." She cupped his face with her hands, then pleaded, "Is this—this cruel need, these—feelings what you call love?"

Bruce grabbed her hands, gently, and brought them down. When he talked, his voice was soft but clear, acute but earnest. "Valerie, love, love differs for everyone. Everyone experiences it differently. That's your feelings, only you can decide that."

"You told me I loved you."

"I still believe you do," he said. "But that's my belief, what I want to believe. I wanted to broaden your horizons, upset the status quo, get you to admit a few things." He drew out a sharp breath. "When it comes to emotions, Valerie—baby, you know you are not the best. You need things to shake you up for good to break your reserves. Don't get me wrong—I'm not saying I'm better. I almost ruined everything because of my—demons, just because the thought of losing you terrifies me." He paused. "But that day, in the study, when we talked, I was going to kiss you. I'd made up my mind—I was already into you beyond hope anyway and I couldn't take it anymore. Then you looked at me for a full minute in indecision. I knew you wanted to do it but couldn't bring yourself to kiss me. Then you popped out Mary Poppins. By the time you were in my bed again sleeping over on your corner, I realized I needed to deal with it. Besides I came to a point where I was doing nothing but think about you, all the time." His tone grew a little tense as he paused again. "I can't tolerate that kind of distractions indefinitely. Something had to be done."

Despite what he had just said, she couldn't find her anger. He was different, she always knew, even when she couldn't explain, different than any other man she had known. In his arms she was safe, outside the monsters prowled but with him she was safe, she was never left behind. During sex, when she was close, she always felt safe. It was easy to pretend like that, closing your eyes and imagining things, but Bruce was different perhaps because she knew even now, even in the middle of this talk, if a call came, he would go to fight the monsters and she would do anything, _anything_ to stop any harm befalling him. And if it came to the worst, she would follow him…to whatever end…until the end of the world, she would follow him.

Maybe that was love, not that cruel insatiable need but that camaraderie, that bond she thought as a warmth filling her heart. Bruce Wayne didn't only offer her his love, or a place to stay, or money; no, he had given her a purpose, a cause, a reason to live beyond her own solitary existence. Which she did, always, in the end, she had always survived but she knew it wasn't enough for her now. She was more now, and consequently needed more.

He lifted her head up with a gentle touch on the chin. "Love… love isn't gentle, Valerie, not all the time, you know that. It isn't even a feeling. It's like…like a variety, a coalition, a combination of many…other things. Not just meeting the right person, but meeting the right person at the right time." He kissed her gently and she trembled, the words wrapping themselves around her, his soft but earnest voice covering her like a blanket, and she realized just how much she wanted to be coated with him, to lose herself in him.

She pulled him closer, opened her mouth for a desperate kiss, before his hands pried her off. "Sometimes, sometimes, I even think, it's like… you know, like fate. My fate. All these things had to happen to me in those exact ways, so I could be this man, this damaged person, right now, right in this moment because otherwise no one else would love you the way I do."

Her heart pounding madly in her chest, she hugged him, tightened her arms around his body, and kissed him at the junction of his neck. "Funny, I'd say the same thing." And it was the truth too, the bare naked truth, and perhaps Rachel was a way smarter than both of them because she had already seen that.

He laughed, faint merry sounds shaking his chest up and down, and gave her a small genuine smile. Then she caught a rare shy look from his bent head, one full of affection, and momentarily she was struck thinking of what she _would_ do to see that look and that smile on his face daily. She trembled as he pulled her closer, her insides still flopping around, her poor heart still fluttering madly. His right hand picked up a piece of fruit and he popped it in her mouth then kissed her briefly on the lips. "We're the worst pillow talkers, ever."

Taking a deep breath, she slowed down her pulse, breathing his smell in, so familiar and soothing, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "Sure that we're the dirtiest," she waved her hand around the cushions, then over herself. "Such a mess you've made…I'm all sticky."

He pulled her completely on his lap, and gave her another kiss. "Your idea, naughty, remake of 9 ½ weeks."

* * *

_A/N: The food porn stuff was inspired by 9 1/2 weeks, obviously, and a fic I read about Daniel and Vala before. Needlessly to say, I love food-porn! :)_

_Yes, Valerie 'finally' understands what Ithaca means, but, please still don't expect miracles. There is still a long way for both of them to go before things finally have settled._


	13. Indulgence

_As you from crimes would pardoned be,_ _Let your indulgence set me free._

_The Tempest, Shakespeare_

**Chapter Eleven: Indulgence**

* * *

Waiting was the worst part.

Her eyes fixed on the empty shout box at the web site, Selina grimaced at silly pink cats that covered the page. She'd found it ironic and hilarious at first, but hilarity had left its place to pesky annoyance, and that irritated her even more. Hollis should have made contact by now.

She had other commitments, had other things to deal with, but the thing with the twin cats demanded a tidy close—all the loose ends needed to be tied up nicely so she could plan her next move.

God, how she hated endings… her least favorite word in all existence… endings… the urgency, everything—everyone—set in motion to see an end… The haunting knowledge—that gut deep feeling that the end approached; no place for games anymore—no time for diversions—and there wouldn't there be any twist in the end, all the missing parts fell into their places— dull…that was probably why predictable endings made for the worst movies.

Give her a good beginning any time…the uncertainty, everything and everyone scattered—full of potential—full of dreams—full of passion—then give her a little time, time to plant her seeds, and she would make sure that they would move exactly where she wanted them to be. She had always liked the notion of playing more than the game itself anyway.

The strong smell of cinnamon with a faint underlying scent of carnations pervaded as Holly came into the living room. Steam floated above the rim of the tea Holly offered her and she took it with a small smile, took a sip, and hummed in appreciation. Excellent. Holly smiled wider, and Selina returned it as it had become their routine.

Holly—sweet, dear, porcelain doll, Holly—who had seen the worst of people and still had managed to come out somewhat unscathed. But there something else about Holly, something she couldn't exactly place, underneath all of that crying, helpless, pleading, dependent posture, there was something that piqued the interest. A sudden stoke of brilliancy, a look, sinister and devious; whenever she had thought she was nothing than what seemed on the surface, Holly had gone did or said that proved otherwise.

From anyone else Selina might have found it unsettling, but from Holly—with her doe eyes, porcelain skin, and full lips always ready to tremble—she couldn't help but find it delightfully amusing.

Holly must have already gathered what had happened that night, must have already understood she was waiting for something, even though she continued to play the ignorant. Experience—as always was the best tool to learn, and Holly must have learnt well enough to turn a blind eye in those men's company to survive the atrocious life she'd been forced to live through.

"How old were you when your parents died, dearie?" she asked suddenly, realizing that they had never talked about her life prior to her capture in a living hell. Selina usually didn't care for sub-stories of others, but apparently she was getting a new hobby since Valerie.

Holly stared at her for a moment then answered slowly, "I was—young."

Selina smiled gently. "Were you sent to a foster home?"

"No, I lived with my grandma."

"I've never seen my grandparents," Selina remarked softly. "How was living with her?"

Out of the blue, Holly gave her the biggest smile Selina had ever seen on someone's face. "It was the most beautiful thing."

"A lovely old lady?"

"Nope, she was the crankiest old person you ever met, just like the Grinch—she loved no one but me."

Selina tilted her head in thoughts. "It must be good to be someone's only love."

"It was," Holly agreed earnestly. "She had a cataract, but she still used to read to me every night."

"Stories?"

"Yeah," she paused. "She never used to finish them though. She just found a good place to stop and left the rest to my imagination, so at the end they wouldn't disappoint me."

Amused, she looked at Holly. "She was a very wise woman then, Holly. I'd have really liked to meet her."

The young girl beamed up. "She probably wouldn't have liked you, Selina, but I'm sure you could understand it wasn't personal. You see, she really liked no one but me."

Selina threw her head back and laughed, from her heart, and there wasn't left many things that could bring such a sound out of her, but Holly —sweet, dear, porcelain doll, Holly—was nothing but an exception.

* * *

Back at home, looking at Valerie sleeping next to him, pressed into his side, her arms and legs intertwined with his, Bruce felt like a true idiot. She had been right; he _was_ an idiot. And it was nothing short of a miracle that his 'close, intimate, eyes-open' plan hadn't blown up spectacularly in his face.

Valerie wasn't like him, and he'd do well to remember that all the time. He was a committed person, to every cause; he had always been; in love, in life, in purpose. When he made up his mind, there was no turning back, no other paths, whereas Valerie had been running for a long time, from everything, even from herself, believing that the best solution for her problems was simply to pretend that they didn't exist.

Still, Bruce could openly see the excess of feelings that she felt for him; feelings that were enough to break long years of defense mechanisms, fortified by sheer habit—enough to make her stay even when her every instinct must be screaming to her 'run off'.

She loved him, truly, he knew it, even though she couldn't say it, she loved him. But she was getting overwhelmed, she—they needed to find balance, a common ground, soon—before she broke down, worse than ever.

He wasn't going to let her; she was still not allowed to leave him behind. They were going to return to normal soon enough. He just needed a new plan.

* * *

She dropped the harnesses that they were setting up on the cave walls, her mind still trying to register what he just said. He must be up to something, there had to be some logical explanation, even though she didn't any inkling of what it was, there had to be one. The belts and metal locking systems cluttered to the cave's floor as she looked back up at him. "You want me to go out with Selina?" she repeated.

"Well, you said she's a friend," Bruce said reasonably as he retrieved the swing. "So go and have a girl's night out."

"Bruce, are you feeling okay?"

His hands stopped briefly fixing the straps and belts on his body, and gave her a sideway glance. "I'm fine. Go and have some—fun—"

"Fun?"

"—within reasonable standards."

"Bruce, are you really fine? No one head butted you last night, right? Or attacked you with some hallucinogenic compound and whatnot?"

He dropped the harness and jumped over the enormous space heaters scattered between them to get closer to her. "Valerie, you need to get some distance from—me—from my things," he said softly.

_Ah…_ "But—"

"No buts—" Cutting off her words, he pulled her in his embrace. "I'm giving you a Scott free night. Have a few drinks, dance, and uh, flirt with people—mildly, please, _very_ mildly." He brushed her hair back off her neck. "Then come back to me."

"But with Selina—?"

"Well, you two have some things in—common, and you really don't have many friends." He gave her a small smile. "It's okay, baby, I trust you."

"Bruce, my devious, cunning darling," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his body. "You don't need to manipulate me with nice words."

"I wasn't—"

"Uh huh."

"I wasn't—"He trailed off as Valerie gave him a look. "Okay, perhaps a little… But I trust you, I really do."

Her damn eyes started to water, and she gulped down a lump in her throat. "I know, and thank you." Simple words shouldn't do that to her, shouldn't make her heart thunder madly in chest, shouldn't make her head feel dizzy, shouldn't melt her insides to mush but she knew it was too late to do anything about those too now.

But Bruce, her sweet darling, was trying, so she had to too. She gulped again. "You need to fix the heaters now, darling." She picked her harness up from the floor, her eyes flicking toward the electrical appliances. "Wouldn't want to our asses to freeze in the winter in our lovely cave, would we?"

He nodded, pushed his arms through the vest, and fastened the belts around his waist and thighs. He then pulled her closer and cupped her ass with one hand. "I'd never let anything happen to this ass, baby."

She laughed as her insides were swept away yet again with lovey-dovey things.

* * *

Sitting in a coffee place across of the street from the teashop she frequented, Alex watched Selina Kyle closely. As eye catching as she had been in her cat suit in the shadows, she looked even more stunning under the sunlight. God, each time he saw her she grew more beautiful than he remembered.

Selina Kyle, alluring, enigmatic, mysterious Selina Kyle. She had been more than a surprise, and Alex wasn't someone that was easily surprised anymore, or intrigued or—affected, but the truth was, he was, still.

He hadn't told Andrei, still.

A quick bit of research had told him only what was apparent above the surface; Selina was an ever-unoccupied high society girl, the stepdaughter of one of the wealthiest men in Gotham, if not America, and wasted her days spending her stepfather's trust funds. Or at least, she had until she was cut off from the family a short time ago, which explained the small flat in upper East Riverside.

There was another thing the reports had inclined, but Alex hadn't been surprised about that.

She hadn't many friends. In fact, there was only one woman she met with occasionally-quick meetings in teashops outside of the hot-spots of the city, and it looked like her friend was very similar to her; the dark hair, tilted light green eyes, long slender body, and an identical sardonic smile that blossomed on her lips every once a while.

Aside from the mocking red lipped smiles and occasional glares—mostly from the other woman—they kept throwing at each other, they seemed friendly, sipping their tea, but their body language said a whole different story. Not friends… No, not even close. The first time he had seen them, they reminded him of the wild animals that Andrei loved to talk about, the wild animals that entered each other's territories. He had taken a few photos of the other woman and kept watch from afar. When the woman turned out to be the bodyguard/girlfriend of Bruce Wayne, Alex was surprised again. There was something going on with those two, something not …friendly, not in the slightest. He didn't know what, but he was going to, soon.

He stood up, threw a few dollars down on the table for the coffee he hadn't touched, and crossed the street. That night, in the dark alley, she had won, and now it was time for the second round.

He stopped in front of her table, shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked down at her sternly. She lifted her head up to look at her intruder and Alex waited—waited to see shock, fear, worry, anxiety, to appear in the depths of her dark blue eyes but there was none. In fact her eyes seemed… amused.

He scowled as she tilted her head, leaned back, and smiled. "Ah…so you found me."

Alex looked at her, hard and unflinching, and if it had been anyone else receiving those stares, they would have already started to shake on trembling legs. She on the other hand, looked bored. She shook her head and indicated the opposite seat with it. "Please, sit, Alex, I presume you want to talk."

Looking at her eyes, he found himself sitting. "You're good, I must say, I'm almost impressed."

Alex blinked once, then twice, then leaned forward, "Woman, are you _mad_?"

Her smile dropped, she gave him a serious look. "That might very well be the case, Alex." He gave her another look then she nodded. "All right, let's do this again. It seems you didn't get my point the first time. You walk away, I sit on my seat, Holly stays with me, and no one gets hurt—"she paused, holding his eyes, "And you know exactly who I mean by no one."

His eyes hardened even more at her tone, this bitch must have been really, really raving mad—lunatic. "You—"

"I have a couple dossiers on you and your boss," she cut him off, "Holly and I—we talked, she noticed things, about you—about Andrei…about your—" her voice stopped as pure disdain slipped into her tone, "business…Don't be fooled by her innocent look, Holly—Holly is very unique. She's listened, has learned, things…how you bring your—merchandise—your deals…the clients…I've prepared a couple of dossiers and arranged them to be sent to the certain authorities in case of our disappearance for more than twelve hours."

"Twelve hours," Alex remarked sternly, "Twelve hours is long enough to have a—talk."

She gathered his meaning, he knew she did, but instead of the fear, he was greeted again by a smile. "You won't," she said simply.

"Why?"

She leaned forward. "Because it's business, and you're a business man, aren't you? I'm making you a fair offer. I'll pay for Holly's—value, and you'll leave us alone."

"And you'll leave us alone too?"

For a moment she didn't answer, just looked at him, then slowly started, "I—despise you—all of you—the things you do, the things you force them to do… There is no word in any language to describe how vile, how miserable you are, but as long as Holly stays with me, I'll leave you alone." She paused a little, her eyes skipped away from him, far away. "I can't save everyone." Then it turned on him again. "But I saved Holly." She halted again. "This conscience thing, Alex, it drives me mad…Leave Holly alone. Believe me, you don't want to see me mad." She leaned forward, and smirked, red lips holding that gentle enigmatic smile. "The last time someone did, I blew up a high-end shop."

He looked at her eyes. "I know."

"Yes, you know my secret too. See, we're square. Now, please, don't let me detain you."

He wasn't fazed by her rude dismissal. "Why did you do it? Why did you blow up Cartier?"

Her smile turned into mocking, as she leaned back. "They refused to sell me a necklace I wanted, I got _mad_."

He laughed, then causally said, "I could simply kill you and take Holly away."

She laughed back. "Already tried, remember? How is your shoulder?"

His hands fisted. "I—"

"Please, stop wasting my time, Alex. We both know you won't."

"Why?"

"For the same reason you're sitting in front of me alone, for the same reason, you came here to me instead of going after Holly, for the same reason you apparently didn't tell your boss anything about finding me." Alex looked at her struck as her smile grew even more mocking and smug. "You're trying to understand me, you can't wrap your mind around it but nevertheless you try."

"I stole one of your girls, I beat your ass, and you find it intriguing. You find _me_ intriguing." She paused and laughed at the stunned expression on his face. "Don't be ashamed, I usually have that effect on people. I bring a new breeze into your life; an excitement, a sense of novelty; a high society girl like me, prowling the dark streets in skin-tight spandex leather, rescuing girls, blowing up places… It's only understandable, really."

She stood up and he lifted his head up. "Don't bother to drop by again. When you make up your mind on the payment, just send me a text. I believe you already have my number."

"The reports I have on you—the rumors…they say only one thing," he remarked.

"Which is?"

"Selina Kyle is a heartless, cunning, manipulative bitch."

She pursed her lips, lifted a shoulder up before she reached down to take her clutch from the table. "Well, there is a hidden truth in every rumor."

She then strode off.

Watching of her retreating back, Alex couldn't think about anything other than how terrific a queen Selina Kyle would be.

* * *

Derrick Malkin had only fallen in love three times in his life.

The first was Jasmine, the beautiful Asian girl who used to live next to door to his aunt's apartment's building, and she was his classmate from preschool. She had raven black hair, and the darkest eyes he had ever seen. One day at school, at noon when they were drinking their milk, he dropped his Oreos on the floor, and smiling, Jasmine had offered him one of hers. He'd fallen in love with her right at that moment.

Derrick had never been one to stretch things more than necessary, so a week later he asked her to marry him. She had said she needed time to think, because she was very confused. Derrick didn't understand why she was confused or why she needed time but he said okay. He would have said okay even if she had asked him to throw himself out of the window. Next month her father got a job away from Boston, and they had had to move to Gotham, so the mystery of her confusion stayed as such.

The night that they left, his twin cousins jumped him in bed—they were furious because he'd beaten the two of them—and he was caught surprised by a handful of kicks and bites from the boy and ear pulls from the girl before his uncle—their father came to their room and grounded all of them for a week. Grounding meant no TV, and the Super Bowl Semifinals were that weekend so Derrick was particularly more pissed than usual. But that night he understood one thing very clearly. To be happy, lots of factors needed to culminate at once, but to be unhappy even one thing was enough.

That night, gazing at the ceiling, his head and his sides in pain, he felt profoundly unhappy, and alone, like he was the only living soul in existence and felt like he could never be happy again. Even that age though, he knew things happened like that; when it started rain, it often poured. Before his mother had died from cancer, his father had been hit by a drunk driver while returning from the hospital, and died on the roadside before an ambulance arrived because the traffic at the time of the day was a bitch. He had believed Jasmine could take him out of this bleak dark drama that was his life but she had said she needed time.

When he grew up, he thought about going to Gotham sometimes, to find her and ask whether her mind was still confused. But every time he forsook the idea. Why, he wasn't particularly sure. Perhaps it was because he was afraid of her answer, perhaps because he had grown up. Or perhaps as he grew up his hopes shrunk, his desire dwindled, his passions waned. While he was getting bigger he became so much lessened that there hadn't been any space left inside of him. If there was a price for growing up, it must have been this, Derrick thought one night; he had grown two inches, gained ten pounds and had forsaken the world.

The second time was Jessica, and he fell in love with her to challenge the time; because when she had been forty three, Derrick was about to turn sixteen. She was beautiful, with long satiny legs, a sparkling golden cascade of hair, sultry hips, luscious laughs, and the tightest tanks showing her round full breasts; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She had moved to the apartment across from them the month before, and hope had rekindled with her arrival. She was a nice woman, she smiled every time she saw him, and he watched her all day, ignoring everything else. One day he saw her on the other side of the road coming home from grocery shopping, the paper bags in her arms, and he rushed to help... if he was lucky enough they would share a small but nice chat and she would smile at him, and he would smile back…

Before he could cross the road, and breathe in her mind-twirling, breath-stopping scent, time stopped suddenly, just for a moment before the car struck. His eyes flicked toward her, resting on her figure. Her eyes were wide, her perfect mouth opened in a silent scream, calling his name like he was all that mattered—and in all in his life he had never seen anything more beautiful than her sight that was frozen on his cornea.

There was pain; the doctors told his aunt he had a few cracked ribs, a fractured elbow, some inner swelling, but no internal bleeding and for that he was very lucky. When they asked the reason of the accident, he shrugged and didn't say anything. Jessica came to visit him the following day, brought him yellow flowers that he didn't know the name of, and kissed him on his forehead.

Her lips burned his skin more than the bruises on his body or the cracks in his ribs, and that night he was almost glad that he had been hit. The doctors cleared him two weeks later, and when he returned home, his cousin gleefully informed him that Jessica had moved downtown with her new lover.

He slapped her across the face, hard, and threw her to the ground and before she could have cried for help, he kicked her in the side. Her twin brother rushed to her and swung at his nose.

Blood spurted. He spit it out and swung back. By the time his uncle came to their room, they were rolling all over the carpet—the new carpet they had bought from IKEA a few weeks earlier, bloodying it beyond repair. His uncle threw them to separate sides of the room, then bellowed, "I'm sick—I'm fucking sick of all of you—y'all fucking ruin my life—" and his gaze fell on his wife, a deadly silence fell on the room, in which everyone looked at each other while Derrick simply looked at Jessica's old window. Then they all started to scream—to blame each other for the unhappiness that their life had become.

They always said it was a small world, perhaps if he just went to Gotham and walked around, then perhaps he could see Jasmine again.

That night he took his aunt's secret stash from the refrigerator, and left for Gotham. Two days later the police caught him sleeping on a bench in Gotham City Central Park. He tried to pass as a French tourist, uttering a few French phrases he had learned that semester, but his teacher was a real bitch, and he was useless at languages anyway. They didn't buy it, then he tried to act like an orphan—which was technically the truth but they found the big, heavy cell phone his aunt had gifted him last year in a moment of incredulous generosity mixed with guilt for what went on the year before and they found her number. Damn technology, he exclaimed in his mind, those things weren't anything but collars that civilization tried to put around their necks.

His uncle and aunt came to collect him from the police station, without a word much like the day they had collected him from the nursery after his father's death. They didn't talk all way back to Boston, with him or with each other.

His days spent in Gotham hadn't been very fruitful; even though he had sat on a bench in the Gotham City Central Park, watching the busiest street of the city Jasmine had never passed by. But it was no problem, no problem at all, because by that time Derrick had fallen in love once again, with a voice, whose face he wouldn't see until many years later.

Georgina was the one, that faceless voice over a phone, the last and biggest love of his life.

_There was something rotten in the city of Gotham, Derrick thought gazing at the skyscrapers looming over the horizon. His English teacher—not a bitch like French one— had started with Old English Literature last week and he particularly liked Hamlet—and he understood that quote fit Gotham even at first glance._

_It was a small world and a smaller city so he started pacing through its streets but after two hours, his feet started to kill him. Perhaps he just needed to find the busiest street of the city and sit on a bench and wait. She would certainly pass by—everyone did. Then he scowled, there was one problem though, he had no idea which street was the busiest in this wretched city. Momentarily he thought about asking the police but then declined the thought. On general principle he didn't like cops. _

_They hadn't done anything when his mother got cancer, they hadn't done anything when his father died because of a stupid drunk driver who they failed to catch, they hadn't done anything about that ambulance driver who had come too late, and they hadn't done anything, hadn't interfered, when Jasmine asked for time to think; all promises, promises, but no execution._

_Okay, no police. Then who else? What kind of world was it when you didn't have a single person to ask even a simple question? He looked at the by passers—trotting away, paces hasty, shoulders hunched, and he momentarily thought to stop and ask one, then decided against that as well. People generally didn't like him, so he didn't like people either; it was called a defense mechanism._

_He entered a phone booth and opened a page randomly and pointed one line. He dialed the number._

_A young voice answered, "Hello."_

"_Hello, are you a policewoman?"_

"_I'm thirteen."_

"_Are you going to be a policewoman?"_

"_No."_

"_A state officer of any kind?"_

"_Are you a phone perv?"_

"_No. Will you?"_

"_Will I what?"_

"_Will you be an officer?"_

"_No."_

"_Excellent. I'm not a pervert and you're not going to be a policewoman or a state officer. So could you please tell me which street is the busiest street in this city? A street that everyone walks down sooner or later."_

"_Jane—my stepmom says I shouldn't talk with strangers."_

"_I'm sure your stepmother means 'talking with strangers' with a 'face to face' subtext. We're talking over a phone," Derrick countered with perfect logic. They'd started to take Logic and Philosophy courses too this semester, and if his teacher saw this thought process, she would have been very pleased._

"_Tell me who you are and then we won't be strangers," the girl replied. Ah, she was logical too. "I'm Georgina," she added as an olive branch._

"_I'm someone who doesn't have anything left in this world but the random voices from randomly dialed numbers in a random phone booth. Perhaps I'm your subconscious."_

"_You talk like my uncle. They say he's in clinical depression. You know what it's? No one is telling me."_

"_Yes, it means being profoundly unhappy."_

"_Are you unhappy too?"_

"_Never mind," he replied; none did. "It's not the case. But who you are? Are you unhappy too? What are your thrills, what are your hopes, your dreams, your passions, your disappointments? Who do you call first when you're in trouble? Who loves you unconditionally? If you have a person like this, call that person tonight, Georgina, then tell him that you love him, no matter what. So when you don't have anyone else in this world, you won't need randomly dialed numbers to ask the simple questions."_

"_I don't have anyone like that," Georgina said on the verge of tears. "Mom left me when I was a baby—father hates her—hates me too."_

"_Don't cry, Georgina," he said, "You'll have me then."_

"_Will I?"_

"_Yes." She stayed silent so he continued, "But first I have to find someone and ask her something."_

"_Who?"_

"_My old fiancée," he answered truthfully because he believed in honesty in relationships. "She said she needed time to think the day I proposed to her. She was very confused."_

"_I'm sorry—" Georgina mumbled out._

"_Don't. Perhaps we were wrong for each other but we had to be together because Destiny called it, because otherwise I wouldn't make this call, Gi."_

"_How old are you?"_

"_Fifteen—but pain ages people more than years, and by that estimation I'm already a very old man." A brief pause emerged over the line, then he asked slowly, "What is your most unhappy day, Georgina?"_

_She still kept the silence for a while, then said softly, "Two years ago—at my cousin's wedding. After the groom and bride left and I was alone."_

"_Alone?"_

"_Yeah, alone in a wedding-gown—"_

"_Ah, little bride things," he sighed, "but you should have known, Gi."_

"_Yes," she spat with anger. "Yes, I should have. People always lie. Even when it isn't you who are getting married, they act like you're the one, then when the ceremony is done, you gather the truth. You feel like a bride who was left at her wedding day, even worse than that; like a bride who was left at some else's wedding, even the wedding isn't yours."_

"_Sounds really bad," he commented, then heard Georgina's voice—yelling voice to his ear as if from a distance, like the phone had been parted away from her chin—"Leave me alone, you loser, I'm talking!" There was a whiney shrieking voice in backside then Georgina yelled, "If only you did, then I'll tell your momma that you were sucking Tom's face last week." Her voice came again nearer, "Sorry—"_

"_Who was that?"_

"_My younger step-sister," she answered with an apparent jealousy of the younger sibling and the usual cruelty that came with it. Perhaps, he thought then, that was the problem. If they stopped being cruel toward the younger people, then the people who were older would stop being cruel toward them. It was a circle—circle of something—his teacher was saying—karma? People had to start showing mercy—clemency from somewhere; but to be able to feel clemency first you needed to have an inconceivable reserve to put up with countless shit._

_He sighed at the difficulty of the world, and asked once again, "What's the busiest street of this city, Georgina?"_

"_I dunno…"she said, "Probably Main Street, the one across the Gotham Central City Park downtown. It's a crossroad." There was a pause over the line again then she asked, "Who are you? What's your name?"_

"_I'm not relevant, Georgina. I've never been."_

"_Were you lying before, when you said you would be there for me?"_

"_People lie all the time. You should know that by now."_

"_What are you going to ask your old fiancée?"_

"_I don't know. Probably why—she could have saved me from me."_

"_I think you're lying—" she then said coolly, "I think you've lied from the start. You're bored—or bored and hurt, and sitting in your home alone, on your comfy bed, and you're making prank calls. I think she didn't even say she needed time; she just said no because you're a filthy liar. And that's why you're hurt now."_

_And that time Derrick fell in love once again. "It could be, Georgina, people lie all the time."_

"_Wackjob," she hissed out before the line went silent._

_Derrick walked towards the Gotham City Central Park and sat on a bench that had a view of the street, and watched the people passing by, his mind already taken aback by the voice over the phone._

_Two days later, the police found him, and he went back to Boston, the trip back was spent in silence._

_At sixteen, he called her number but didn't speak._

_At seventeen, he called, but only said, 'I've missed your voice.'_

_At eighteen, he called but no one answered. A few days later, his uncle divorced his aunt, and a couple of weeks after that, he left for Gotham. His aunt didn't come to take him back this time. He found out Georgina had run away from her home too after a time._

_At twenty-three, he found her in a hole-in-the-wall bar, giving lap dances._

* * *

___Here it is. A little bit more plot with Selina and Alex, backstory for Derrick and Georgina, and a little bit Bruce and Valerie with true 'indulgence', which yet another cliché that I couldn't help myself with: _"If you love someone, set them free...blablabla..." Why, Bach, why? Why did you have to say that? Hah.

___Later._

___(Germany! Congrats. You officially finished El Clasico! Nice!)_


	14. Thought and Memory

_When you say words a lot they don't mean anything. Or maybe they don't mean anything anyway, and we just think they do._

_Delirium, in Sandman_

**Chapter Twelve: Thought and Memory**

* * *

Having already set up the necessary equipment outside Tavian's, Bruce waited, his eyes concentrated on the screens. As most individuals associated with crime did nowadays, they had decided to have the meeting in a local bar in broad daylight. Adjusting the scanner in front of him once again, he flicked his eyes to Valerie.

There was something going on with her, but Bruce wasn't sure what. She had wound down after their last episode, and he hoped it wasn't just the silence before the storm. Perhaps he had pushed her too hard, but she needed distance—distance from him and his…bat-shit crazy stuff. His plan was good, but perhaps something else needed to be done—discreetly… No—no, he trusted her. He'd decided to trust her—had placed his belief in her, months ago, in that motel room when she had pulled a gun on him, he had decided.

He lifted his head and looked at her as she stared at the screen. When she sensed his scrutiny, she turned to him, and gave him a small but sincere smile.

He stood up, and reached over to cup her face. Then he kissed her. She responded as eagerly as she always did, half sighing half moaning into his mouth, her body fitting naturally into the planes of his, her mouth hot, her tongue wet, curious and teasing. It sent burning streaks of pleasure down his spine.

He pushed back. She protested with disappointed mews. "The meeting will start soon," he explained. "We need to concentrate on the radio."

A whiney pout appeared on her lips. "Then why did you kiss me like that?"

"Do I need to have a reason to kiss my girlfriend?"

She smiled with something close to melancholy, shook her head and ran her fingertips along his hairline. The simple affectionate gesture sent another streak of desire along his spine, right down to his crotch. He sighed, took another step back, and returned to his post.

x

Miles away from Wayne Manor, Derrick entered Tavian's bar where the Russian also waited. Despite the problems lately, the leader of the Russians must be having the time of his life, Derrick knew. The Ukrainians had left months ago, Maroni—his sworn enemy was finally gone—and the Irish had just left the stage. All of the —problematic opponents had gone, and his family was left with the biggest patronage of the city. He must be really happy—or bored out of his mind, Derrick mused. With these people, one never knew for sure.

To tell the truth, the old man aside, Derrick hated his new potential business partner but he guessed that was good too. It was like that story of the fighter and his sword; a fighter had to run away only when he started to like his sword.

So far he still despised these people, and he still needed them to do what was necessary to keep Georgina happy. She was never going to feel like a bride forgotten at someone else's wedding again. He had lost Jasmine before he had won her, and lost Jessica to a man whose face he still didn't know, but he wasn't going to lose Georgina. She was the only thing he had in this life, a random voice in a random phone booth, the connection of his island to the mainland.

He sat at the table with the head of the Russian mafia, Yuri Dimitrov seated opposite of him, and at the head of the table as the host and negotiator sat Tavian. In reality the Russian should have been closer to Tavian because of his social—status but Derrick knew that the old man was very careful with him.

The hierarchical structure among the mobsters had highly amused Derrick at first, the line of authority passing to the most powerful and the most cunning—it was like a governing body within itself.

When he lifted his eyes toward Dimitrov, Derrick saw the glower and had to bite his inner cheek to keep from smirking. The mob boss was a very vengeful man who forgot little, and forgave even less. But the times were calling for change; these people couldn't go on like they had used to, desperate times called for desperate measures. Even if that meant sitting down with people who had beat up your people.

"Tavian says you have a business offer for us, young man," Dimitrov remarked, his heavily accented voice grating. Under normal circumstances, the accent would have already vanished over the years of living in America but Derrick had come to understand that ancestry was a thing of identity with these people, like finger prints, which they held as sacrosanct.

"Yes," Derrick acceded, "Gas-Oil trade—with the Dent Act and Batman still chasing you, you should consider new business opportunities." The statement came out as patronizing, he knew, but with these people there was no squirming. If even ahint of hesitation or intimidation was shown, they would eat you whole and spit out the remains.

Dimitrov scowled but answered, "Arms?"

"Not my area," Derrick turned to right, "I presume that is Tavian's specialty."

"We need the goods now," the Russian bellowed, "You can't run a city without guns. We—"

"Yuri," Tavian interrupted tactfully, "the days of brute force have passed. The youngling is right. These times are calling for more delicate operations."

"And you can't run delicate operations without delicate guns, old man. Even that little double crossing rascal Ivanokovic is gone. Who is going to do my laundry now? Who will bring in my merchandise?"

"I know," Tavian concurred, "I'll deal with it. I've already started with contacts in the Ukraine. But hear our offer now."

Derrick leaned forward. "Tavian and I have started a ring for gas, the goods are clean and first grade. But we need someone with more connections in the Russian mafia; the Ukrainians and the Russians aren't buddies now."

Dimitrov shot a glance at Tavian then turned back to Derrick. "What's your deal with the Ukrainians?"

"I have no deals with the Ukrainians," he answered sternly, "I just have a deal with Tavian."

Dimitrov gave another look at the aforementioned man. "I see why you've taken him under your filthy wings, old friend."

One of the things that pissed Derick off more than anything was to be talked about like he wasn't present. He gave them a hard glare, and stated, "You can't pursue drug traffic—"

The head of the Russian family snapped his head back to him and scowled. "Do you have anything to do with those damn fear pills on the streets?"

Miles away from the bar, Bruce and Valerie shared a glance, as Derrick answered. "I have no business with drugs, and no intention to start any time soon."

"They say Tomah was your guy."

"Tomah was a hired gun," Derrick said sternly. "The mere fact that his last client was me doesn't mean he was my man. I don't make rascals into my people."

"So we heard," Dimitrov muttered. "Do you know anything about it? Heard anything? If I catch the one who started to distribute that stuff again, I'll make him very sorry."

"Bad for business, I presume," Derrick said flatly. "I have no hand in the nightmare inducing toxic pills. Although I generally find people to be idiots, liars, and cowards, I'm a people person. I like humanity."

The Russian looked at him with heavy eyes and fished out a Cuban cigar and lit it. He let out a breath of smoke leisurely. Tavian scowled, waving his hand in front of his face.

"Batman—he might be a problem though," Dimitrov finally said.

"He's _always_ a problem," Tavian commented.

"Have you thought about something for him?"

Tavian shook his head. "No, but he's rather busy these days. He's working on the arms trafficking now, the money launderers are almost gone, then he'll probably focus on drugs. Although there is a problem with human trafficking too; the gangs ship the packages every month from the old countries—Romania, Ukraine, Moldavia, Russia. I even heard someone has started a ring for Taiwanese too, think about it, Taiwanese in Gotham. And there are other police concerns. So, you see, pretty busy."

In the cave, Bruce sighed at the brief yet sturdy summation of his job, the job still yet to be done. Valerie reached for his hand, and squeezed it with a reassuring smile.

Dimitrov remained silent for a while before he commented, "I wish I had gotten my hands on that Reese bitch." Valerie's hand went rigid in his as their eyes caught. "It's like she's dropped off of the face of the earth."

"Wasn't there a call a couple of months ago?" Tavian asked. Both Valerie and Bruce drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widened.

"Last fall," the Russian said, "Riley, one of his former minions. The guy said he had the package the Irish would be very pleased to see, but didn't say where. The bastard didn't show up at their appointment, and turned up dead in a hospital two weeks later. There was a car accident, he was found handcuffed to the wheel. We searched the local area, security cameras, nothing came up. There was a call to 911 to report the accident, a woman, but it ended up in a dead end too; couldn't trace it."

Valerie took her hand away, and rested her forehead on it. Bruce clenched his teeth as his muscles turned to stone. How he could he be that foolish—that imprudent, incautious? To forget _that_…

"Police?" Tavian asked.

"My man inside said there was no contact with the police. She ran away from them too, smart girl. She must have known she wasn't safe at their supposedly safe house."

Valerie shook her head as Derrick Malkin causally remarked, "Perhaps Batman took care of her."

Valerie's and Bruce's eyes found each other again. "You think he—killed her?" Tavian asked.

"I don't know, just took care of her. Killed her and threw in a pit, or chained her up in some dungeon, or sent her somewhere far away, I don't know. I won't pretend that I can predict the thought process of a man who dresses like a flying rodent to fight with—the less respectable side of life." Derrick paused for a breath. "But the bottom line is she's his problem. She's probably the only one who knows his identity, or the only one who was dumb enough to reveal that knowledge. He'd certainly want to deal with that— problem. So if you could find her, I guess you could possibly find Batman too."

Valerie stood up, tore the earpiece out of her ear and threw it down. She started to walk away. "Valerie, Valerie—c'mere," Bruce called after her, taking out his own earpiece. "Val—come here! We need to talk about it."

She spun on her heels. "What's there to talk about, Bruce? The mob is still after me. You didn't think that they'd give up on me, did you?"

"Valerie—"

"I know what you are going to say," she cut him off and pantomimed a talking hand puppet. "Valerie, baby, we need to be careful, you have to stop—blablabla—I know it."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Why are you getting so defensive?"

She closed the distance between them and shoved him. "Getting defensive…? Why indeed? Hmm…perhaps it's because I'm still wanted by the mob, and if I'm found, in best case scenario, I'll end up being tortured because I can't betray you even if it means my death." Another shove. "Yes, I wonder _why_ I'm getting defensive!"

He caught her hands and pressed them at her side, then gripped her shoulders tightly. "Valerie, look at me, look at me. As long as I breathe no one can lay a finger on you, let alone torture you, do you hear me?" Not another one, no, not again…never again.

"You're making me soft," she whispered. "I should have thought them before."

"And you, Valerie, are making me distracted," Bruce answered acutely. "I should have thought of them before too."

"They are my problem."

"They are our problem."

"My mess."

"Valerie," he touched on her chin, "we aren't _just_ sharing a bed. We share our lives now. We're responsible for each other."

She looked at him...responsible, god, responsible... Her mind whirled to the last time she saw Ramirez... _I would lose my heart..._ She threw herself at him, and wrapped her arms over his waist. "But what if I lose you, Bruce, what if I lose you because of _me_—I can't live without you—I can't go back to that—" She couldn't, she couldn't…

"Baby, you're not going to lose me."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

She stayed silent for a while then rested her forehead on his chest and sighed deeply. Bruce held her tighter in his embrace. "I'm being dramatic again, right? No one is going to live forever. You're going to die someday."

"Yes."

"You may even die just seconds later, could have a heart attack, or stumble and hit your head on the floor, you could have a car accident, you could get cancer—everyone dies."

"Yes."

"How do you deal with it, Bruce?" she asked her voice breaking as she sounded more vulnerable than any time. "How do you deal with this fear?"

"Valerie—"His voice broke, "Does it really look like I _do_?"

She silently laughed at his words, weary, wondering why it had to be this complicated. "Sometimes I wish things could be simpler. My life had never been easy before but things were simple. I always knew what I had to do. When you're on the run, things aren't easy but they are simple; your priorities are clear."

"I know, but you're doing great, baby."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

"Well, let's say reasonably great then."

She stood still for a while in his embrace before she spoke again. "I've never feared losing someone before." She halted. "When Jason died, I really felt—relief."

"No, you lived your pain, your hurt in your relief, Valerie. I was there, I saw it. And you couldn't leave him behind."

"You were looking at me."

"No," Bruce objected. "Not because of me, but because of yourself. You took your box too, you showed it to me. Valerie, you were mourning in your own way, in the only way you can. Is there anything else you remember fondly about him?"

"Just a few. When Amy—the real Amy—mocked me because my bracelet was fake gold, Jason said she was jealous of me. I didn't understand, Bruce, I really didn't. Why Amy would be jealous of me? She had everything I ever wanted. She had left the nunnery with her new parents, she was living in a house, a real house, with a room for herself, and pretty fluffy dresses, and new shoes. She had even said she had a TV in her room, just for her, think about it! A TV all to yourself. And her bracelet was real gold, it sparkled in the sunlight so beautifully. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that Amy would be jealous of me. But she was. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because she was such an ugly little girl," she took a breath, laughing. "_I saw her, doll. Such an ugly little girl. She's jealous of you because even with all of her gold she will never be quite as beautiful as you are_." She laughed again, hiding her head at his chest. "God, I must have been such an easy mark. Do you know what he said when I told him I broke the light in the hall because I thought they were pretending like I didn't exist?"

Jesus, Bruce thought, remembering... _I thought they were doing it on purpose…_ But he didn't respond this time. He was afraid if he did, she would lose her rhythm and pullback into her shell again. She didn't even seem to be aware of what was saying. "Bruce, he laughed, he laughed with the most affectionate sound I've ever heard from anyone. _Doll, they weren't turning on when I passed by last time either. Cheap bitches, they put in the tacky ones. It's got nothing to do with us._"

His mind went back to the day Jason had died—and her pleading words next to his dead body…_I remember—I remember everything...It's got nothing to do with us._

Something—an incorporeal wordless anguish grabbed his heart, tightened his chest, the last time he had felt like this had been while listening to Harvey's screams as Rachel died…. Valerie clapped her hands at his back. "Then—BAM—the next thing I knew I was begging him to let me come with him. I escaped with him that night. He broke me out of the basement—" She laughed wearily. "Cathleen had sent me to detention because of the episode. She had even had bars put up on the windows when she caught me trying to break out a few times. God, I hate punishments."

Bruce closed his eyes for a second; the trying-to-be-casual tone of her voice hurt him more than the words now. He bowed his head to look at her figure snuggled against his chest. "She sent you detention often?"

"Well, thinking of back now the basement was more of a home to me than my own bed." She sighed again. "It's a pity no one teaches life-worn nuns how to deal with little histrionics. A few times, I was even sent down even though I had no part in the events. She was all like, you know—'_Round up the usual suspects_.'"

Bruce asked slowly, "Did she hit you?"

Valerie shrugged and he knew the answer before she spoke. "Sometimes, when the offense called for it, she wasn't trying to be cruel—by her standards anyway. The integrity of the crime and punishment; if the harmony of the nunnery was disturbed by your insubordination you were sent to basement. But if anyone is hurt because of your actions then you're to spend some quality time with Cathleen. Jesus," she said, her head still firmly placed at his chest, "Don't take this in a perverted way but you couldn't believe how many times I'd been laid over her knees and spanked."

He pulled her tighter against chest. He wasn't anywhere close to taking her words to any sexual ways, nowhere close. "And you know what the most horrible—humiliating part was with beatings? They gave us a little cushion afterwards to sit on it, you know—uh—it hurt a lot after, and Cathleen wasn't one to be cruel without reason—" she said with a derisive laugh. "They made us carry that damn thing everywhere." She let out a deep breath. "The humiliation of it … Pain, you can tolerate pain, it hurts but there is dignity in it. But sitting on a fucking cushion and having everyone laughing at you, or look at you with pity…" she trailed off, her voice hardened as she finally lifted her head.

"One day I refused to take it. Cathleen was furious, thought I was just trying to disturb the harmony of the nunnery again. She ordered me to take it, and I said no. Won another appointment with her—then refused to carry the cushion again, and won another one. I wasn't hurting anyone other than myself, but Cathleen was beyond reason. She claimed I was hurting _my flesh_ for no reason whatsoever. It fast turned into a routine. I saw her first thing after the breakfast then before dinner because I refused to sit on the cushion in the meantime…too stubborn for my own good." She sighed.

His voice, barely a whisper, cracked when he asked, "What happened then?"

She let out a rough derisive laugh. "What could happen? One night returning to the hall for dinner, I fainted. Cathleen relented, took pity on me I guess. And I took the cushion the next time." She shook her head, sighing. "Jesus, look at me, talking about my good ol' childhood days—must really be getting old."

* * *

Alone, after the meeting, Tavian finally let himself lapse into a fit of coughs. The air of small room was heavy and stale with Dimitrov's Cuban cigars, and he opened one window to let the fresh air in. There had been times a little cloud of smoke wouldn't have bothered his lungs much, and there had certainly been times Dimitrov wouldn't have wanted to annoy him with his little Cuban buggers as well.

He was getting too old for this shit, and times were a-changing.

There had been some dignity in the old days of the underground, old customs, not written down like law, but still quite effective. The city had lost it now more than ever. It had all started with that Batboy, a fucking yellow brick road that was paved with Scarecrows, then fear attacks and ended up with the madness of clowns.

Money—money and power had been good reasons, very sensible reasons for the world that they had all been living, now even that had lost its importance faced with the madness, pure insensible, irrational insanity. There was something that had past being rotten in city of Gotham now, something more sinister, more devious, more—irrational…he had understood that as soon as he had seen that killer boy's face on the news a few weeks earlier, the former Mayor asking for forgiveness, the Commissioner calling for sympathy. It had been the last straw on the camel's back.

His dreams weren't about money and power anymore. No, they had turned to the category of little cottages in remote Godforsaken places.

He was certainly getting too old for this shit, and Gotham certainly wasn't how it used to be.

Only one thing, then, remained. He needed to see the Malkin boy received what he set to claim, then he would leave, turn his back on this fickle city, because even though times were changing, he was not. They had lived in dignity, through the customs that had been written down in their blood, and there was still that truth; he was in debt to Malkin boy, and the Malkin boy needed the Russian, and the Russian needed _him_ to be happy.

All right then, the last job; the very final act, the big finish before he turned off the lights and exited the stage, to pay back what was owed.

_When he saw Andrei next, he was going to kick his little collaborator ass, he thought as he backed toward to the wall on the back street of Molten. He must be getting old; there had been times he would have never fallen into a trap like this—never._

_He should have never done business with Andrei, that man—that man's lust for power was interminable, his hunger insatiable, he was bad news, he'd known it from the first time he set his eyes upon him, but Volodimir was simply worse. He needed to go, it was time for a succession, and Andrei was the most suitable candidate._

_Even that little dingy hole of an honest establishment, Molten, wasn't enough anymore, and the Council had discarded Volodimir, and gave its blessing to Andrei. Volodimir needed to go. He had become too much of a nuisance._

_But none of it particularly meant he would do it without any casualties. And it seemed the casualties were going to start with him._

_He took another step backward, and his back collided with the stone wall. Watch your back, always, their first rule. He had his back covered, and if only he could cover his chest too, things would be okay again. _

_He looked at the end of the barrel. He'd always known though, always knew, his life—their life—would end like this—they'd lived at the end of a barrel, always, and their life would end like this too, at the end of a barrel…_

_It was just a pity he couldn't gut that little ass before he was gone._

_The man, face grim and without compassion, approached, the barrel closed in too, then suddenly he stopped, swayed on his feet for a split second, then dropped. Another man's silhouette appeared behind him, and he squinted through the shadows…at a young man…barely out of his teens, dark hair, tilted hawkish eyes, and an angled sharp nose, standing above the downed man's feet._

_He recognized him. The little freak that had it hard for one of the dancers, the lunatic who had beat a client to a pulp two days ago because the guy had dared to touch to his woman. He scowled. "They won't like what you've done, young man."_

_He shrugged, easily, like it didn't matter. "Andrei has killed his boss."_

_Ah… So it had begun. "Well, thank you then."_

_He shrugged again. "Why," he asked, looking at the man at his feet, unconscious but still alive. "Why did you help me?"_

_The question made him narrow his eyes with displeasure. "He was charging an unprotected old man with a gun," he explained, a frown on his voice. "That wasn't a noble thing to do."_

_He laughed. "No, no, it was not," he paused, "you saved my life."_

_The young man nodded seriously. "Yes, I did."_

"_What's your name, youngling?"_

"_Malkin," he replied, "Derrick Malkin."_

* * *

She didn't deserve this unique man, Valerie accepted the truth as Bruce walked out of the cabinet. With her secrets, lies, and countless shit she really didn't deserve him, but she had no one else. She couldn't live without him, she couldn't lose him, and if he learned the things she was doing behind his back… God, Jason really was right; she was impossible to feel an innocent feeling without twisting it into something else.

She had to take control of things before they started to spiral down the drain again. The mobs in this damn city were still after her head, and she had called—she had called one of her old acquaintances.

She hadn't call Jeremy back, thank god that some small sense had still remained in her mind, but she needed to make sure the call wasn't traced. She needed to make sure that no one knew she was in Gotham. _Then_ she had to call him back. She simply couldn't let Jeremy do something for her then disappear on him; not calling would get the same amount of attention as calling him. She needed to plan something—a perfect bulletproof plan then call him back, and make him happy.

Damn you, Selina Kyle, she yelled inwardly, damn you to hell and back. It was all her fault anyway. When she got mad at Bruce, she purchased a spa, hadn't called her old friends. Perhaps she should have just told Bruce; after all, they were responsible for each other. But...what if he decided that she wasn't worth the trouble, worth the time and energy. Look at the mess she had made of his life in only a few months. And she could take care of her problems, her messes, her mistakes.

She had made a choice. That night, when she had called Selina, and even before that, she knew she was going to pay for it, one way or another. She just hadn't thought the price would be this high. Never mind—she always paid the price, always. And she could take care of her problems. She just wished she could do it in a way that didn't feel like she was stabbing Bruce in the back.

His cowl in his hand, he walked towards her, and stopped in front of her. She swept imaginary dust off his shoulder. "Be careful," she said.

"I will," he promised as he always did, his gloved hand rising to push a lock of her hair back, and she guessed the routine had really turned into a habit.

The affectionate gentle motion, and the soft rasping tones of his voice, stirred up her confusing feelings again and she felt her eyes mist—damn them—and she did the only thing would bring her peace. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hid her head on his armored chest. He hugged her back.

She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent, and pressed against the cool hard titanium she felt the marvelous tranquility setting in—then her telephone chirped.

She went still, her body tensed, as the bubble of blessed serenity shattered. There was only one person who would send her text messages in the middle of the night. It chirped again, and vibrated, but she still stayed motionless. "Aren't you going to check that?"

She shook her head with a cascade of ruffled hair. "Nah…said don't like coffee, he doesn't get it."

His heavy chest shook with a low deep rumble of laugh. "Should have said you're more of a tea girl."

She sighed. "Already did. Offering me tea now."

"Alfred brews the best tea in the world."

"You're not going to tell me to invite him for a tea party, are you?"

He pressed her tighter against his chest. "I most certainly will not." He must have known she was lying, and the pitiful lie, almost begging for a confrontation, must be a thing of guilty conscience. But he didn't, he didn't confront her, he didn't even raise a skeptical eyebrow, he just touched her chin, and lifted her head up.

His eyes looked at her like every time; an intense ocean of trust, belief, and hope, now burning with pride, affection and everything else she held dear in this life. Then slowly, barely a whisper, he uttered the words, "I love you."

Just three words, three words she had said countless times, and she could say them in every language known to mankind, she could talk with more words than everyone in this planet, words she adored, little precious things, and like sex they had never failed her before but now just standing in front of him, she couldn't find a single one that could convey what he meant to her, not one single word that could transmit its wholeness without corrupting its purity, diluting its euphemism, or fracturing its essence, leaving only the shattered shards in its wake.

So she did the next best thing. She kissed him.

* * *

_Here comes the guilt trip, together with the universally known inability of _troubled women_ to say the words. Tell the truth, I wanted to do something different with Valerie, because she wouldn't have been scared of saying 'I love you' if the case had been only that. Sometimes words just are not enough. And, eh, you know, the sacred rule; 'show, don't tell.' Sometimes I'm very old school :D_

_Oh, if you feel like to bitch to Valerie, (or me), feel free. I don't mind. :)_

_I have no idea with anything about gas smuggling and whatnot. Take that part with a grain of salt. Sorry._

_Later_


	15. Emotions in Motion

_Sex is emotion in motion._

_Mae West_

**Chapter Thirteen: Emotions in Motion**

* * *

As she had requested he sent the payment's details in a text message. Selina tilted her head, her brows furrowing as she glared at the slick screen of her phone. Half a million dollars…he must be kidding, only he wasn't; she was sure of it. She threw the phone on the coffee table and started to pace around the room.

She stopped then looked at the wall. Her share of the twin cats wouldn't be that much. It was small business, just testing the waters, not five hundred thousand dollars' worth. Her hands fisted…she could ask Melina…? No…not before it was a life or death situation.

She could figure something out. Once she got back in the family? Perhaps…even though she despised the idea of taking money from him. No, not again, but surely she could bend Melina to her wishes once she was in, and she would be in, soon, but not soon enough. She needed the money now, she needed to show that miserable heap of greed she meant what she had said. Holly was far more precious than a _few_ dollars.

Hmm…perhaps she just needed to go Valerie's routine. Threaten Bruce Wayne. But that would cost her leverage. She needed Valerie to get back in the family in her way, she had invested so much in it, she couldn't let him win now… for Holly she might be willing to reconsider her plans, but only that was the last option, if only there was no other option. There was only a day left, only one day. She had placed all of her pawns, queens, and knights on her chessboard. Tomorrow night Valerie was going to Chill. She was going to go back to the family, and Thomas would be the one to do it. That was how things _should_ be.

Money wasn't the problem. She could find money, if nothing else she could always get it from—elsewhere. Andrews was going to find out what she had done sooner or later… Perhaps she could talk him into something else… No, money...money wasn't an issue, time was the issue; she needed it now. Now. All right then, she needed to grovel. She grimaced…but first… She reached for her phone and dialed John. "Dearie, how have you been?"

"Selina, what a surprise," John replied dryly.

"I've missed your delightful company. How about a drink?"

"Of course," he agreed dutifully. He was a smart boy. He understood perfectly that as long as he kept her happy, Selina would keep him happy too, and during their brief partnership, her charming company and the little green papers had kept him happier than anyone else in his life.

When she got to the bar at the corner of her street John was already waiting for her. She approached him quickly, stood up beside his stool and threw her phone on the bar. "Check this out," she handed him her spare keys too, "and the house too."

"Err-?" John answered.

"I need to know if I'm being watched," she answered seriously. "Check every corner, every where, John. I want to be one hundred percent sure."

On her way, she picked up a prepaid phone, and took a taxi and found the first hotel. In the rented room, she first sent a text message to Hollis, and then called him.

"Selina, what's this about? I told you not to call me—"

"Unless it's an emergency." Selina completed for him, "and it is."

He replied immediately, his tone worried, "What happened?"

"I need money."

"Selina—" he protested, "Selina—"

"I need half a million dollar—"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"It's an emergency, Hollis," she repeated, "I need it—"

He sighed out, "When?"

"In a couple of hours."

"Selina, seriously, there was only one small logical part left in your bloody mind, and you've just lost it."

"Hollis, it's very important…I—I need it. I'll pay you back, you know, I will."

"I know you're a woman of your word. But it's half of a million dollars."

"I'm planning something. You'll get your money back."

He fell silent then sighed again. "Okay, I'll ask around—I guess I can ask for some credits. I'll send you a message on the shout box of the cutie cats once I've wired it."

"Tonight, Hollis, I need it tonight."

"Okay, okay, got it," he let out an irritated grunt, "Remind me why I'm doing it."

"Because I'm a good partner." And yes, she was, and he knew it.

When she returned to her flat, John was waiting in the middle of the living room. Upon seeing her, John placed two bugs on the table in front of him. "Who did this?" he asked.

Selina merely looked at him. John shook his head. "It was just these, one in your telephone, the other in the buffet, the rest is clean."

She grimaced. "My notebook?"

"Clean," he confirmed again then said sheepishly. "I was protecting it. They couldn't pass over my—guard."

She nodded. She needed to pull her act together. Soon it was going to start. "Good, upgrade my security, and set up some sort of alarm system around here too. I want this place protected better than Alcatraz."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it."

"Good."

She sent John away, sent Holly to bed early and tried to sort through her conversations since she'd met Alex. Nothing seemed relevant, but she had to be very careful now. It seemed that Alex would be a problem.

She sighed, and opened her laptop to check the website. When she saw the shout box message, she went to her online account, and closed her eyes, letting a big breath out. Money was good, was a good protection. Aside from the dossiers, it was her insurance policy, perhaps the most important one. He was in this business now, no regrets for him, no second guessing, he had betrayed Andrei. He had taken the money. There was no turning back now.

No turning back for anyone.

* * *

Her telephone rang before the clock hit two in the morning. Valerie checked the cave to make sure that Alfred wasn't around, took off the wireless with a half-hearted excuse and answered the call in a clipped tone, "It's two in the morning, Selina."

"What did you tell him about the mysterious woman that was seen around Cartier's?" Selina asked, "I'm wondering."

"I said it was me, of course, what else?"

"Mm-hmm," Selina hummed then laughed sarcastically. "Did you tell him you decided to play—Batwoman?"

"_Catwoman_ actually," she said dismissively. "Bats are ugly, cats pretty. He saw my point."

Her laughs grew louder. "I have to admit, when Thomas drew me back to Gotham, I had no idea it was going to be this much fun. You're—you both are hilarious."

"Well, it was you who decided to turn things into a carnival, _dearie_. I had to make up something."

"What did you feed him then?"

"A costume prepared for Halloween."

"It was August!"

"I like to be prepared."

Selina laughed again. "Hilarious," Then her tone turned serious. "So, dearie, are we ready for—tonight?"

"Yes," Valerie said curtly.

"Good," she paused. "Not that it's hard to get into Dylan's pants—"

"Not going to happen."

"Sorry?"

"Getting into his pants, it won't happen," Valerie hissed.

"Hmm…I see," Selina said slowly. "Frankly, I don't care. But I suggest you put your best into it. We're getting along pretty well, Valerie, I'd hate to see that get ruined."

"Selina, I used to do this for a living while you were still playing with your Barbies."

Not impressed, Selina laughed. "Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow, then, at my flat at nine. You can wait here for Thomas to leave his—lair," she paused for a second. "Just another little curiosity: What are you going to tell Bruce this time?"

She grimaced at the phone. "No need to say anything."

"Ah," Selina drawled silky, "being rebellious, are we?"

"Not exactly."

* * *

When he had seen the money in his account, he had been surprised. He'd expected her to make bargain, to ask for a—discount, or installments, not pay him the whole amount less than twelve hours later. She was estranged from her family, her stepfather had written her off. She wasn't broke but she couldn't—shouldn't have been able to gather that amount so quickly. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but even beauty could only carry you so far when it came to that kind of money. But there was no denying the half of a million dollars in his account.

Then the package arrived. No labels, just a simple yellow envelope, containing a note and two little pieces of plastic. Once the contents were poured into his palm, his bewilderment turned into incredulity. His bugs…

He closed his hand around them, fisted his palm, and threw the junk aside. He then picked up the note.

_We're done now._

* * *

Valerie descended the stairs and with his eyes fastened on her, Bruce tried to wipe off the slight frown from his brows. It had been his idea, and it wasn't the time to behave like a high school boy. Still…His gaze traveled over her; the black lustrous spandex wrapped around her legs like a second skin, the black leather bra-corset that left most of her upper body unclothed, and dark silver metallic sparkling chiffon draped over her shoulders. Bruce sighed. Trust her to overdo it… then he noticed his bracelet around her wrist, gold and fake, and not fitting in at all with the rest of her clothes… He smiled faintly.

She strutted toward him. "How do I look?"

"Nice," he murmured as she curled her arms around his neck.

"Nice?" she asked with a scowl.

"Okay, you look provocative, seductive, impulsive and incendiary… Happy?"

"Hmm…I'm not sure if a person can look incendiary."

"Well, you do. You look like a flame ready to burn," He gave her a look. "So don't burn anyone, okay?"

"The only person I want to burn is you, Bruce, no one but you."

"Good. Come back soon," he said as she took a step backwards, "I'll be waiting."

Valerie smiled before kissing him.

* * *

"He told you _what_?" Selina asked where she sprawled on the big comfy armchair in her living room, laughing hard. She was clothed only in a scarlet short silk robe, with a Bloody Mary in her left hand.

"To take you for a girl's night out," Valerie answered, shrugging as she sat on the armchair opposite her.

"Oh my, he's _so_ kind."

She sent her a glare and watched the same girl she had seen earlier walk in the room with another Blood Mary. She offered it to her. Selina turned to the girl. "Holly, dear, call it a night, and get a good night's sleep. We have so much to do tomorrow."

The girl nodded, and Valerie sipped from her glass watching her retreat. She turned her attention back to Selina, who was watching her closely. "Did you find a way to drive Thomas off?"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry about him, Dylan will be alone tonight." Selina checked her watch . "In fact, Thomas might be here at any minute. Then you can be off."

Valerie arched her eyebrow. Selina shrugged. They sipped their beverages in tense silence until Selina's phone rang. She looked down at the phone and her lips pulled into a delighted smile. She lifted her eyes. "See, already."

She reached out, pressed her forefinger on the green mark, and put the speakers on. "Thomas—" she drawled, "I was just thinking of you."

"Of what were you thinking, Lina?" Thomas asked, then after a brief pause went on angrily, "Of my car, perhaps…the one with busted tires, and a deep stretch all over the hood?"

"Hmm…perhaps," she answered.

The door started to ring too. Selina climbed to her bare feet, and ran toward the intercom. She pressed the button to open the channel. "That's made the fourth, the freaking _fourth_ car you have cost me, Selina."

Selina closed the phone, giving Valerie a smug look, and pressed her finger on the intercom again. "Now, dearie, the first one was hardly my fault. It was due to that father of yours."

"You squashed your arm on the door then told him I drove into you and hit you on purpose!"

"But you did drive at me on purpose!"

"Just slightly," Thomas fumed. Valerie gave Selina another look, and shook her head. She might have found a relationship as fucked up as Bruce and hers.

Selina smiled even wider, and pressed her finger again as she braced the other hand with phone on the wall. "Now, dearie, then it's all _your_ fault. You should have done much better than 'just slightly'."

"Don't worry. I'm thinking about it."

Selina released the button and let out a deep sigh before pressing it again to whisper. "Do you remember? You were all over me when you thought you really hurt me."

"That was before I learned you _broke_ your arm just play with me, you little masochist witch—"

"Thomas," Selina cut him off, "This isn't enough reveling. Why don't you come up so we can throw insults in each other's faces?" She let out another deep sigh. "I have to admit, I've missed it terribly."

"Now have you?" Thomas asked suggestively and Valerie decided that their relationship was definitely more—_way _more fucked up than hers. It was a warm thought.

"_Terribly_," Selina answered.

"Then open the fucking door, Lina."

And smiling, Selina did. She rested her back against the door, and sent Valerie a look. "Hide in the bedroom. We won't make it that far." She gave her a wink, and laughed. "We never do."

"You're insane," Valerie found herself saying again.

"This is much better," Selina only said, voice barely a whisper.

Shaking her head, Valerie went to the bedroom. After a few seconds, she heard the door open, and Thomas's rough voice rasping, "Missed it terribly, huh?"

Valerie opened the bedroom door slightly to peek out, and saw Selina already propped on wall, her legs wrapped his waist, the short robe pulling up to her hips revealing that she was already naked underneath. Keeping occupied, indeed.

"For God's sake, Lina, don't go ruining my cars when you want me."

"You weren't paying attention, Thomas."

"I am now."

"Then stop whining," Selina said, "If you're a good boy, I might even let you have _mine_."

Thomas growled and ripped the robe off her.

She sighed, closed the door, and waited until Thomas was completely got lost to his surroundings. Thankfully, it didn't take long.

It was disturbing, not because she felt like a voyeur, but because it felt unnervingly familiar, that reflection in the mirror that was so close but just not quite. She sighed again. No, she wasn't that woman, not anymore, she was more, and she had Bruce now…Bruce, her beautiful darling, who was trying so hard—who trusted her enough to take a breath, and give some space back to her—and look at what she was doing with it.

Without making a sound, she slipped out of the apartment, and left the building. Raising her arm to hail a cab, she felt like crying.

* * *

He gave Alfred a quick glance before leaving the cave, feeling like something was missing. Valerie—that was what missing—her presence, her voice, her laugh, the way she said 'be careful," the way she looked at him when he pushed her hair back gently, responding 'I will'.

He knew the pain of missing someone. He still missed Rachel, his parents, every day, every hour, every second, but this was different, like he was missing a limb he'd never lost, like Valerie had grown into him, and her absence was like being amputated; a ghost pain for a lost thing that wasn't lost at all.

Perched on the roof's edge, looking down at a dealer passing a small nylon packet to a buyer, he wondered what she was doing. Was she dancing with another man? Was she touching another man like she touched him? Was she was spinning around a pole like she had been done for him, eyes fixed, glazed with lust and desire…was she catching her lips between her teeth, running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip as she looked at him?

His hands were fisted on his bended knees, his lips clenched over gritted teeth, and his jaw was throbbing. Why—why on the good god's green earth had he told her to go out and have a little fun anyway? She was his, his Valerie, no one else's.

And he was being an idiot; a stone headed idiot, he thought repressing the primal jealousy to where it belonged, the deepest corner of his mind. She loved him but she needed it. She needed some things to be simple. She didn't care for easy, and she could deal with difficult, so Bruce had to give her simple.

A movie night, he had to take her to a real move night. Yes, he could take her to the cinema, and then perhaps they could even drop by Bernie's again. Valerie would like it. He would buy her the biggest popcorn, and they would go to an entertaining film—nothing too artistic but not a chick flick either, just a simple blockbuster should do—then they would sit one of the joined seats, and Bruce would take her in his arms, and play with her hair as she watched the screen. The light of the film would shine over her wide eyes, and he would watch her instead of the movie, stealing little kisses off her neck as she squirmed away from him, laughing, her attention distracting off the film.

And his attention was distracted a lot too. So when the dealer got a lucky kick under his ribs, in a weak spot between the plates, he wasn't really surprised.

* * *

Tossing her hair, Valerie tried to push every trace of bothersome guilt to the back of her mind. This guilt that nagged her, shrinking her brain was one of those stupid confusing feelings that she didn't know what to do with it. In the precious rare times she had felt it before—she had used to ignore it, or find a way around—in a wide variety—from seeking outrages actions just out of sake of doing something or simply finding someone to fuck until she couldn't feel anything at all.

This however, was different, something she couldn't just shake off with reckless actions and meaningless sex, close to that helpless old cold fury of betrayal she couldn't just get rid of, but she had to try—at least she had to try.

All right, she needed to treat it as a job that needed to be dealt with, simply a job that she had to do. She hadn't planned on things turning out like this, she hadn't planned on misusing Bruce's trust in her like this—it was crucial to her, the most important thing in her life—perhaps even more than his love; it had changed her—made her try to be better… Suddenly she wished he hadn't been that good, that understanding, that loving; she wished that the opportunity hadn't been offered to her, she wished that instead of misusing Bruce's trust she had schemed up another way to go along with Selina's plan...and if wishes were horses then thieves would be riders. It was a job that needed to be taken care of, and she just needed to think of it as such.

Still, she wished she could have gotten rid of the stupid guilt.

The club was slowly filling, but it was still fairly early in the night, and while a few people were along the bar, the rest of the club was empty. She drew a deep breath, steeled herself, and walked purposely toward where Dylan was standing behind the bar.

Enough dawdling, it was time to finish this.

A job…nothing more.

* * *

She sat in an armchair next to an enormous bed, in a luxury penthouse looking at the wasted man sleeping there. She turned her head to the windows, and looked at the glamorous nightscape. It had been ridiculously easy to win him over, to get him under her spell, just a few minutes of baiting and being provocative, and then… in no time flat…he was in the business; no challenge, no struggle...ever winning. One part of her still couldn't help but find it palatable, the victorious side that perked up every time, with every new accomplishment, while the other was crushed under disappointment.

Her eyes flicked again to the blond man on the bed. He was a handsome one; lean body, not overly muscled but built nicely, suave, charismatic; trust Selina to have good taste in her men. She would have liked to have him…in her earlier days. But being here, in his home, next to his bed, even after playing a very dirty seduction game, when she closed her eyes and tried to imagine him the only images assaulting her were of Bruce; his eyes fixed on hers, his hands holding hers tightly, his fingertips brushing against her pulse, tracing the life line of her palm, his breath tickling her ear, his lips devouring her as she clung to him… She opened her eyes, letting out a loaded sigh.

She stood and went towards the bed. She looked at the man then slowly bent down to kiss him on the lips. It could help things… simple, just an experiment… he was a handsome one, she wouldn't have minded...

Just before her lips touched his skin, her body stopped moving, stayed still. Just a few inches, just a few inches, if only she could bend forward… and kiss him… just kiss him, on the lips, briefly…

Then she saw the tears dropping on his lips, on the skin she'd tried to kiss. She stumbled back breathing roughly, tears running down her cheeks, and turned to flee.

She didn't dare to look at what she left behind.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Selina got out of bed and stood in the middle of the darkened room. Thomas was sleeping on her bed, barely clothed, suddenly she felt dirty. Her insides tightened, shrunk…and she looked at him with hatred burning in her heart. Her hands curled into fists, and she closed her eyes, momentarily thought of killing him or herself…perhaps both. Possibly both.

She put her robe on and left the room. In the living room, her eyes caught on the piano in the left corner. She stood in the middle of the room, and looked at it, her mind drifting away. "Play something for me—"she heard Thomas's soft voice behind her.

She shook her head. "I haven't played for years."

"Then play now…I've never seen you play after, um—that dinner."

She froze for a second then walked towards it. She brushed her fingers over the elegant wood, and confessed, "I didn't."

He gently laughed, and approached her. "After the dinner?"

"Yeah…" she mumbled.

He laughed again, full of melancholy and memories of old times, and for a moment she was startled by how much she had missed his laugh. She felt her eyes burn, and bit her inner cheek to keep the tears at bay.

"You know I've always thought your reaction to our little Thanksgiving dinner that night was very adequate."

She shook her head, let out a whimper close to a sob, close to a laugh. "You mean throwing up all over the table?"

"Well, it was a mockery…" He sighed, "A _disgusting_ mockery." He leaned on the piano and opened its lid. "Remember the summer camp? You were dancing all the time and I couldn't do anything but watch you, enchanted."

She looked up at him. "We didn't know each other then, just strangers…"

"We can be strangers again, just a man and a woman in the night, even for one night."

"Tomorrow?"

"I don't make plans for that long."

Closing her eyes she laughed again then hit the keys, three times, the baritones, each haunting and each mocking… She felt tears burning her eyes, her vision blurred, and she lifted her head back at him then whispered, "I hate you."

He bent down his head, "I hate you too," and whispered back before catching her lips.

They made love with their eyes closed.

* * *

Bruce felt her presence even before he opened his eyes. "Baby—" he murmured, his eyes fluttering open, the waning moonlight shining over her figure.

She ripped every item of clothing off her body, then stood at the foot of their bed. He stared the expanse of smooth skin, the lean svelte body of a mythical nymph, the unworldly halo the misty light made over the tumble of her dark wanton hair. His eyes riveted on her as a primal carnal desire that defied higher thought process and years of self-discipline, and re-conditioning seized his all being.

All the worry he felt receded to the darkest corner of his mind, left to oblivion, he even forgot the pain under his rib that he had received a few hours ago, he forgot the last bruise his shoulder sported, he forgot everything other than the dark haired goddess walking toward him, eyes glinting feral with need.

He pushed the duvet aside as she crawled toward him. "Welcome back," he rasped.

"I'm glad to be back," she said seriously, voice thick but earnest, before lowering her head to find his lips.

He grabbed the back of her neck, and pulled her even closer. She came willingly. He rolled them over, and kissed her hard, intensely, purposely, trying to let his tongue and lips convey the feelings that words could never express. Her body wrapped itself around him, and he lifted her up against his chest, catching her by the waist, sliding inside as she exhaled roughly, her features twisting in pleasure and fulfillment.

His eyes found hers, and he whispered, "Baby…close your eyes."

She tightened her grip on him, and shook her head, eyes fixed on him. "I—" She let out a groan corresponding with his slow thrust, "I—don't want to."

"Val—" he rasped, his heart beat quickening, "Valerie—my—"

"Bruce, hold my hand, never let me go, please."

With one hand, he took her arm down from his neck, curled his fingers through hers, as she arched beneath him. "Not possible," he promised then hushed into a language spoken only in skin and sweat and need.

Hours later, Bruce regained consciousness, and opening his eyes, he pulled her closer to his chest. He dipped his head to kiss her briefly then smiled against her lips. "Those guys must have really bored you to death, that you returned like that last night—" He felt her smile against his skin.

"It's all your fault anyway. You ruined the appeal of all the rest of your kind."

"Now, really?" he chuckled softly.

"Funny, isn't it? We ask each other that a lot."

"And I wonder why—" he murmured, leaning to catch her lips in a more involved kiss. Valerie dodged, climbing over him entirely, and straddled his hips.

She looked down at him, and shook her head. "Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve you. I don't deserve any of these things—"

He narrowed his eyes. "Valerie-"

"Don't get worried," she cut him off. "Lots of things I didn't deserve have happened to me before. I'm just glad this, us, you and me... happened too, even though I might not deserve it."

Bruce looked thoughtful for a while, pondering what she had just said then asked slowly, "Why do you think you don't deserve it?" He paused to give her a serious look. "Valerie, did something happen last night?"

"Nothing," she replied quickly, "Nothing happened last night."

Bruce felt his heart tighten in his chest. "Valerie, what did you do last night? Why are we having this talk? Stop manipulating the conversation, and tell me openly. Did you—did you sleep with someone?"

She shook her head fiercely and bent down to catch his face with her hands. "The only person I had sex with last night was you. You _have to_ believe me. It's—very important to me."

Bruce caught her hands on his face and pulled them down in a forceful grip. "Valerie, listen to me. I might not always believe what you say, but I always believe _you_, always. Never doubt that, don't think you don't deserve it either. You stayed, this is your choice, you're staying; you deserve this."

She smiled, slowly, like sun rising over the hills, and leaned further to kiss him. Bruce pushed her toward his groin brushing his length over her folds. She moaned resting her body against his, but Bruce pushed her back up. "Nope, do some work," he murmured with a sly half smile, grabbing her hips.

She did, or at least tried, until she switched their positions, putting herself under him, then Bruce no longer protested about doing some work.

* * *

_First I thought to name this chapter as 'Eyes Wide Shut, Eyes Wide Open' but then decided Mae West's quote suits much better. I could mention here how Valerie always gets herself under Bruce with instinct, and a lot of Schopenhauer-istic notions for Missionary position, and the first love triangle in the history; Adam-Eve-Lilith, and how power struggles manifest in sexuality, __and why I named the second chapter as 'Lilith Returns to Eden', _but oddly enough I don't feel like to :) (Hey,this was brief :))

_So...see you at the next chapter, while everyone being miserable in their woes before the shit hits the fan._

_PS. Those were Casablanca references._


	16. Life, Interrupted

_In my beginning is my end._

_T. S. Elliot, East Coker_

**Chapter Fourteen: Life, Interrupted**

* * *

The next day he was gone at the first ray of light, slipping away like a ghost, and Selina closed her eyes, and pretended that she didn't notice. It was easier that way.

She didn't do anything particular, just walked around the apartment, waiting, and sometimes Holly hesitantly approached with the offer of a drink or something. She knew the young girl was worried, and was trying to check on her. She didn't say anything.

Whenever her eyes drifted to the piano, she turned them away.

An hour later, she felt the walls closing in on her. "Holly, I'm going out for a walk," she shouted before running out of the house.

The teen age girl that lived next door to her, whose name she didn't know, was waiting by the elevator. As usual the girl was furiously typing on her phone; she was always texting whenever Selina saw her. After so many years, Selina knew she would remember her as just…'dıtdıt… dıtdıt… dıtdıt….' Perhaps she loved the notion of sending and receiving back messages even more the boy she sent them to. While texting she tossed her head to push her hair back but there wasn't any hair falling over her face. It didn't look like she was trying to be deliberately attractive, so it must have been a sign of some deep anxiety.

She decided to take the staircase.

When she set one foot on the sidewalk, she decided to turn back. Sometimes things happened like that, instantaneous mood changes.

"Selina, are you okay?" Holly asked haltingly from the threshold of the living room.

She turned to her and smiled gently. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Holly gnawed her bottom lip for a moment, then shrugged shyly. "I—I don't know. You seem a little…" She halted looking for a word, then settled for, "uh—not like you."

She laughed again, and looked outside, to Gotham. "Sometimes we need to be dramatic." She paused and asked slowly, "The stories your grandma used to tell you; what were they? Bedtime stories?"

Holly nodded. "Yes, she made up things too, when she wasn't satisfied with what the story books said. She might have been a good writer."

"I used to write things," Selina then said softly.

"You?"

"Yeah."

"What was you were writing?"

"An encyclopedia," she answered. "An encyclopedia of senses, I was categorizing feelings."

Holly looked dazzled for a second and bit her lip again. "Were you writing in alphabetic order?"

Selina gave her a faint but genuine smile. Holly…she was worth all the trouble, was worth everything. "No, I was writing it from the least harmful to the most."

"What happened to it?"

"I got bored," she said, standing up and lifting a shoulder. "Some people are like that. They make a good start, and then they get bored, can't see it to the end." She paused. "The Encyclopedia of Senses, twelfth entry, beginnings."

"Why did you get bored?" Holly asked.

She slid her eyes to the outside, where a new day was slowly beginning. "There was nothing left to feel."

Holly stayed silent for a full minute then spoke hesitantly again. "You said last night we would go shopping."

"You go, dearie, I'm waiting."

Holly went out and she was left alone. Yes, waiting was definitely the worst part; a purgatory, stuck in limbo.

She went to her bedroom, carefully avoiding the bed and pulled out her last drawer. Underneath the fabric and sheets, she found the little black book.

The book was old now, dusty and sallow by time and neglect and she carefully opened its cover and ran her fingertips over the letters on the first page, written in Garamond, simple, and curved, and curt at the edges, like the truths they were; The Encyclopedia of Senses.

She read through the pages and stopped when she found the twelfth entry.

_I came home sweet home last night, swaying on my legs, passed being tipsy but not enough wasted, and knocked down the Tiffany Lamp in the entrance hall and yelled out, "What needed to be said is said, what needed to be hushed is hushed. The only thing that remains now is ashes…ashes of things, but if you ask of what, God damn me to hell—I don't know."_

_By the time the other residents of my sweetest home—minus Thomas, of course, who knows what misguided fool he was fucking—arrived to the hall, I was finishing the whiskey in my hand. They looked at me, and I looked at them and the rest of the words slipped away._

_Some people are like that, they make a good start, and then they get bored, and can't see it to an end._

_I'm only good at beginnings._

At lunch time, the call she was waiting for came. "Valerie?"

The other side of the line was silent for a moment then Valerie slowly said, "I found it."

Her eyes caught on the piano, and she tried to tear them away and failed. "Well?" she forced out.

"He took the money from a racketeering guy named Derrick. He's friendly with Russians these days, into some serious stuff. Selina—" She hung up, cutting off the rest of her words.

The polished surface of the piano shone even in the dim sunlight, auburn mixed with copper, and she still couldn't manage to tear her gaze off it. Her insides shook with that familiar rage again, fracturing…she forced herself to close her eyes—and breath out—she was no good at endings…

She threw herself out of the apartment.

Outside, she walked into the first hardware store she saw, and bought an axe. When she returned home, she broke the piano into pieces, then sat down on the chair at the dining table. She pulled the black notebook in front of her and found the last page.

_Entry 24th: Fireflies_

_Cheryl's sister died of negligence. At age 30. Once I had seen her crying in a dinner party in front of a buffet. I presume there are only a few things more pitiful than crying in front of a buffet where everyone else looks happy. Suffering in irrelevant places makes the anguish twice as hurtful. Cry in front of a grave and no one will even spare a glance. Only a photo remained of her, pinned over the heart of the people attending her wake. It would probably be better if even that didn't remain-it looked like it was glued afterward, a crude job by a second rate artist, that made it look like she wasn't even there for real._

_I met Cheryl at my eighteen birthday party, she was a beautiful girl; naturally attractive, effortlessly sexy and with a small drop of mystery. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the boy in front of her, tongue moistening her bottom lip every now and then. "Was it because of me?" she asked me at the funeral. She was thinking his sister had died because of her, desperate and ashamed in a disconsolate pain. I couldn't say 'yes," no one wants to hear the truth. When people ask things, they don't want a truthful answer, they only want to have an answer that won't hurt. But I couldn't say 'no' either. I just said, "Never mind."_

_I don't presume a tree brunch can make sounds if there is no one to observe it. No one can leave this world suddenly, like their strings were suddenly snapped. To die completely, there has to be no one left to remember you…and by that estimation, there are zillions of already dead people living in this world… a certain kind of zombie apocalypse, people no one gives a shit about, like fireflies they depend on darkness to be seen. And one night, they walk out of their home-tombs, see the neighborhood is a sparkling graveyard, then come and eat people alive. They kill every single creature…until the last little poor thing. And since everyone is dead, everyone is forgotten; the final equality is finally obtained; and if there is indeed a god out there, that night he has to forgive even himself._

_A person can open a window and jump out, but no one can open a window and scream 'Have mercy on me!' Just a different kind of delirium we all live in. Cheryl's sister jumped out of a window, the fourth story; at age thirty._

_I saw Cheryl tonight at another party, two years later, the first time after the funeral. She was talking with a guy, her tongue moistening her bottom lip every now and then. Our eyes met for a brief moment over the sea of people—some already dead—and she looked at me, eyes still sparkling, and I saw her sister in there._

_I still remember her, so she isn't really dead…Funny, an invisible woman tossed over an invisible wall, and no one saw it._

Then she wrote, for first time in many long years.

_Entry 25th: Paths_

_You can only forget the past if you close your eyes to your future, the poet said long ago._

_If things aren't going well, the thing called the past is just a wreck. It can't be just a coincidence that only well-off people end up wanting to participate in their high school reunions. You want to remember the past only if you're content with your present. In fact, you could take more delight the more fucked up your past was. If things aren't going well, you can't go anywhere. If there is nothing to leave behind where you can go? A long way to no place, who would dare?_

_But still it's better to keep on going…whether the path may be the right one or the wrong; in fact it's still better to keep walking on the wrong path instead of just standing on the right. You shall walk on the path even though the path is longer than you can travel, to wherever it leads, even when you know it will bring only pain, and more pain, even when you know you will end up feeling all alone when your mind is only cluttered and crowded with so many people's remains._

* * *

Bruce watched from the long window of his study as Valerie sat on the veranda below, blankly staring at some indiscernible spot while lazily puffing a Cuban cigar. "I thought a night doing her—stuff would work, would help her," he said off-handedly to Alfred. "But she came back even worse."

"Master Bruce, you surely weren't expecting things to be easy, were you?"

"No," Bruce responded, shaking his head. "No, no I wasn't, of course. It's just—"His jaw clenched. "Last night something happened. I don't know what… but something happened. This morning she said she didn't deserve me—she's feeling guilty."

"She put you through hell, sir; maybe the past is catching up with her."

Bruce nodded. "I can't lose her, Alfred. Look at her wrist, she wears my bracelet."

Alfred tentatively asked, "Are you going to learn what happened, sir?"

Bruce's eyes finally moved from her and found the older man. "She didn't take it off last night when she went out even though it was going hideous with the rest of her clothes. She wears it all the time—she only takes it off while showering because she's afraid the water would ruin the fake gold more quickly." He turned his head to her. "I put a tracking device in it this morning while she was showering."

* * *

"Lina, two meetings in a row," Thomas said dropping himself on the chair opposite her. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're getting nostalgic."

"Oh," Selina smiled back. "I certainly miss the good ol' days when my only problems were what to wear and how to meddle in your business."

"You talk like your priorities have changed."

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm…not changed, let's say…expanded."

"I'm glad."

"I'm sure you are."

When she didn't speak further, Thomas sighed. "Well, since you don't make your—social calls in daylight, I'm afraid I'm gonna need to ask the purpose of this meeting."

"I decided Rupert was right about one thing in his delusions," Selina answered. "I decided family matters."

He laughed. "Run out of money so soon?"

"Thomas, don't confuse your silly self with me. I'm always prepared—for every possibility."

"Okay, then, here the question," he said, looking at her. "I finally got rid of you. Why should I help you now?"

She looked at him, disappointed. "Dearest brother, when did you _ever_ see me asking for anyone's help?"

His face turned to serious, closed off, as his eyes grew cold, and distant. "Okay, make your threat then we'll go on our merry way."

She took the glass in front of her, brought it up to her lips and took a big slow sip. She then set it down with a thud. "Yes…business…you're right, let's get on with it; you'll have so many things to do after all. How do you think Rupert would feel when he learns about your new pal? Derrick, isn't it?"

Thomas sent her a glower. "How—how did—"then he frowned, and grated his teeth in fury, "It was Dylan, wasn't it?"

"You know your friend as well as I do. Always such a loser for a pretty girl."

Thomas closed his eyes for a second. "So you seduced—no, _even_ Dylan couldn't be that stupid," He paused. "You seduced me last night and someone else dealt with Dylan." She simply looked at him, smiling. "Who was it?"

Selina curled her lips down. "I probably shouldn't tell you about it—but what the hell…I'm feeling so generous today; must be because of happy feelings."

Thomas sent her a poisonous glare. "Valerie."

"Valerie?"

"Yeah, the girl you're chasing after these days…Bruce's girl." She smiled mockingly, her left hand's fingers making lazy circles around the table. As much as she was useless at endings, she was always her best when it came to beginnings. "Funny, isn't it? _The loser_ always gets the girl you can't." She paused to send him another mocking smile. "First Rachel, then me, and now Valerie too…" Her smile disappeared as she leaned forward. "And I hear the poor orphan has been spending some quality time with Rupert too—funny, they seem to have such good father and son fiber working together on some Samaritan work; the father he lost, and the son that Rupert has always dreamed of."

With a curt flick of his hands, Thomas threw the glass in front of her away and caught her wrist on the table. "One of these days—" He rasped menacingly as tightening his grip, "one of these days, your end will really be my doing, witch."

She smiled looking down at his hand, and scoffed derisively. "Don't deliver promises you can't keep, Thomas."

"What do you want?"

"I want to go back to—" she paused and lifted her eyes back up to him, "—family."

x

_A pregnant pause fell over their ridiculous mockery of a Thanksgiving table, and she shared a quick glance with Thomas before she snapped her head back to her mustached excuse of a step-father. _

"_Excuse me?" she asked._

"_Play a Thanksgiving song for us, Selina," Rupert ordered again. They should have remained in London, she thought then. If they could have stayed in London, she was sure no one would order her to play a stupid holiday song._

"_I don't know any Thanksgiving songs," she replied, drawing her lips in a smile, "Grew up in London, sorry."_

"_Then play a Christmas Carol." Damn him! Always with a new offer, an offer that she couldn't be more displeased. "You should surely know at least one, even London celebrates Christmas."_

_Eyes burning with hatred, she forced her voice remain unaffected. "I don't suppose playing a Christmas Carol at Thanksgiving would be appropriate."_

_Rupert took a sip from his wine before saying, "Why shouldn't it be? It's about family. Play something for us, Selina."_

_This time she didn't reply, just fisted her hand under the table. By that time Thomas had already started to smirk, highly amused, eyes watching her carefully. With the corner of her eye she saw Melina glowering at her. Then she rose in her usual gracefully arrogant way and serenely said, "Selina, a word please."_

_She left the table without checking to see if she was followed, and gritting her teeth Selina _followed_. Rupert had already emptied half of his glass. By the time Selina made it to the small entrance hall, Melina already stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed under her breasts, looking severely displeased. As soon as she closed the door, Melina started. "You'll stop this right now. You will sit in front of that piano, and play that stupid song, Selina."_

"_It's a carol, Melina."_

"_Do I look like I care?" She frowned. "And how many times do I need to tell you? Don't call me Melina!"_

'_Call me mother' was Melina's latest whim; Rupert found her calling her Melina inappropriate, so Melina had instantly started with 'call me mother'. Unimpressed, she settled herself on an armchair. "You've never objected to me calling you Melina before, _mother_."_

"_Play your games with your friends, Selina," Melina hissed out, "I'm your mother."_

_She smiled and braced herself for another of her 'I'm your mother, and you'll heed my words' conversations. After her marriage, she had started love those even more than before. One of the many things to despise Rupert for, as it was certainly something of his doing. They had been not like this before. They weren't close, of course, but at least Melina hadn't tried to play the good mother. In fact, as long as they left each other alone, they used to get along pretty well._

_Now…this… thing was getting very boring, fast, and this marriage was losing its purpose, fast. Even Thomas was looking more amused these days, instead of being miserable._

"_We'll return to the dining room now, and you'll play that stupid song," Melina repeated._

"_No," she simply answered once again._

"_Selina, do you want to drive me crazy? Because you're doing a fantastic job of it. Play the stupid song."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because it's a family dinner, you know how much Rupert—"_

"_Hello, Melina, look around," she cried, "we are not a family."_

"_We are, and you will play that fucking song." If Melina stooped to profanities, it meant she was getting _really_ mad, and that meant that the stupid song was really important. Rupert had probably made a case of it to her even before the dinner._

"_No."_

_Melina closed on in her, and leaned over her seat. "Then listen to me. If you don't play tonight, I'll take your credit cards indefinitely." She raised a smug eyebrow. "How about that?"_

"_If you even try" she snapped, "I'll get myself caught while trying to steal something in Harold's and will create such a big scandal like none ever seen before in this god awful city. How about that?" Melina gave her a stupefied look. She lifted her arm up. "Don't think I wouldn't, Melina."_

"_What's wrong with you, Selina," Melina asked looking at her, "I mean, really, what's happened? When did you become so demented?"_

"_Why," she cooed, laughing, "I don't decline my heritage now. I'm your daughter."_

"_I don't hurt myself in order to pull other's strings."_

"_Then you're a coward."_

_Melina smiled, she grimaced. "They are far more delicate ways, daughter."_

_She looked back at her. Melina caressed her hair—and momentarily she remembered the times she used to do her hair before classes, when they smiled at each other in front of the mirror, her hair twisted up in a perfect little bun, her little perfect ballerina... "Teach me then, mother," she whispered softly._

_Melina smiled, in an affectionate way that had become terribly foreign. "Mother," she said, voice breaking, "Mother, let's go back to London, to our old life. Leave these people behind. I don't want them around me anymore." Rachel was the last straw. It wasn't amusing anymore, and Thomas wasn't in enough agony anymore. Why did she have to suffer when he didn't?_

"_Selina, we've talked about this before. This is our life now."_

"_No…this is just an interim."_

"_You wanted this."_

"_And I don't want it anymore," she snapped back. Somehow it had lost its appeal, and turned into a cage she couldn't get out of. She didn't want it anymore._

_But by her snapping, the unfamiliar precious mother-daughter moment was ruined with the harshness of the reality and they returned to their usual mother-and-baby witch states. "Don't expect me to live my life on your raving whims, Selina." She straightened her back, and looked down at her, with all the arrogance, prose, pretension, and everything else she despised from the depth of her heart. "You caused this. You set us up, just to spite Thomas—this marriage is a monument, a monument of your victory." She gave her a look, and Melina continued, "You can force people onto paths, you can maneuver them, but people are not your play things, dear, not simple life size dolls you can play as long as you're entertained. Especially not Rupert, and certainly not me. This is our family now."_

_Then she guessed it probably could be said that she had lost it, lost it completely. "_Family_—" She yelled standing up, a derisive laugh ripping out of her mouth, "This is what you call a family? Please, Melina, who do you think you're kidding? Me or yourself? You hate Thomas, Rupert hates me, and you put up with Rupert because he's the only one who can give you as much money as you want, as long as you stay. Rupert only puts up with your cheating ass because you're the only one who can take his alcoholic ass, and gambling balls, and give him that perfect family image that he just can't resist playing to outside. And," she went on with more laughing, "Whenever Thomas and I don't hate each other's guts, we fuck until we're senseless."_

_A slap landed on her cheek. "Never say that again. _Never."

"_Don't act like you don't know it. I know you do, I know everyone does." She shook her head. "God, you must hear the sounds we make. It's not like we're trying to be discreet."_

_Another slap landed, she laughed more. And there were more that twenty-seven different ways that she could think of to stop the hand coming toward her for the third round, but she didn't do anything, just waited until it collided with her skin. "Don't laugh!"_

"_Why did you even give birth to me, Melina? Why?"_

"_Why? Selina, I wanted a daughter, why else?"_

"_A daughter to shove off to boarding schools and summer camps, a daughter you only bother to see for the stupid holidays…or a daughter you only wanted to do the things you couldn't do any longer, your little ballerina." She halted as her face hardened. "Who's my father?" she demanded._

"_Selina, I told you before. You don't have a father. You only have a desperate loser who needed money so much that he was ready to forsake some sperm to obtain it."_

"_I don't believe you. You're lying to me, like you always do. You didn't want me, ever—Am I a product of rape or what? Or what?" She took a step forward. "ANSWER ME!"_

"_You're sounding delirious again, Selina," _her mother_ hissed, and god, she hissed in hushed tones, and she knew it was just because she didn't want _them_ to hear. "If you don't stop this, I'll check you into a clinic."_

"_Will you, mother? I mean really? The perfect woman, the ultimate trophy wife, the former Prima donna's daughter is a goddamn raving lunatic—would you?"_

"_You're doing this just to hurt me, Selina. Why…why do you want to hurt me?"_

_Then she grabbed her arms and dissolved into tears. "I want it to be like old days… I want to be like in the days that were just two of us…I don't want these people around me anymore. None of them…You have had many lovers before, and each of them loved you as much as Rupert does…But where are they now, where are they? I'm the only one who stays…will always stay. He will go too… and we will be left once again. I want to end this thing now… just once in my life I want to end something—before it's finished in its own course. Let's leave them behind, only the two of us; they are not our family, we are our family, we are. Just you and me."_

_Melina shook her head in sadness. "They're our family now. I'm telling you, Selina. We're not your play things. You can't play with other people's lives without bearing the consequences. And this is a consequence. I don't live my life on the delirious whims of a teenager. I don't expect you to understand the love between me and Rupert but I expect you to at least respect it. If you can't bring yourself do that, then at least bring yourself to accept it because we're staying."_

_She made up her mind in that moment. She took a step back and turned around. "We will see."_

"_I guess we will." She walked towards to the door. When her hand was on the handle, Melina spoke again. "You will play that stupid song, Selina."_

_She didn't decline this time, just nodded curtly. Her objective was set, the little defeats didn't matter, whether the defeats were breaking her own arm or playing a stupid fucking Christmas Carol. They were going to divorce. Sooner or later, no, sooner than later, they were going to divorce. Melina would see—Melina needed to see—she had no one, no one but her in this life._

_When she returned, they had already started eating again. The wine bottle was already half empty, the glasses were full. Her eyes flicked toward Thomas, and she decided she was going to have him tonight, so hard there would be no sleep for anyone. Then the next morning they all were going to pretend like nothing happened; Thomas would smirk and Selina would smirk back, the pantomime everlasting._

_She sat at the piano, and played the carol…hands going over the keys on their own accord, her mind already preoccupied with plots. One month, three months, six months…? Hmm, definitely less than a year. If she saw that ridiculous mustache for another year, she would probably really go psycho._

_At the end of the stupid song, she swore not to touch a piano ever again. Then she amended her oath; not to touch a piano ever again unless it was for fucking Thomas over it. _

_She hit the final key and returned to the table. Rupert nodded toward her approvingly, spurred out a mumbled 'thank you," the words already slurred. She smiled back gently as her nails drew blood from her palm beneath the table. She really had to learn playing cool better._

_Melina smiled too, congratulating Rupert for something that she couldn't catch because she was too busy staring at Rupert's glass…the sparkling red wine shone with light itself, and momentarily she wanted to pour it down over her thighs and watch it as it slipped down her legs, slick and flickering. She ran her tongue over her lips, remembering the taste of blood; copper and metallic. Thomas was looking at her aroused state now with a newly sparked interest; her job for tonight would be so easy… Her eyes traveled over the table…their perfect family… everyone hating and fucking each other with an equal passion._

_She wanted to laugh…toss her head back and laugh until her chest burst open and her lungs spilled over their perfect table… Then she wondered… Had Melina had ever fucked Thomas? Why not? Perhaps she needed to seduce Rupert too…that would be quite poetic…but too much hair…too much mustache…Then she was just going to have to find someone else…had to look like her though, to twist the blade further in Melina's heart… She gave another look at the table…and Rupert rose his glass for a toast. They followed his example, Melina with her gentle arrogant smile, Thomas probably thinking of six ways to do her till Sunday, and Rupert smiling at Melina lost in his deluded happy family dreams, and she smiled too…_

"_To our family," Rupert said, sputtering, and they clinked the glasses, and the sound fractured something inside. She brought the glass between her lips, took a sip, and gulped the liquid down, and the intense, bitter, old grapes left a residue over her tongue, and it turned to bile in her mouth._

_Without understanding what was happening, she threw up._

* * *

She was up to something. More people had come and left her place in a single day, than they had the whole time Alex had her on surveillance.

The one with the glasses must have been the one who found the bugs, then her friend came last night, then her very angry looking stepbrother, then the bodyguard/girlfriend had left, a few minutes after the stepbrother had arrived, while the stepbrother spent the whole night, and left at the first light of morning, clothes disheveled, and obviously distraught.

The look of him didn't seem innocent, and he remembered the time when her living room's light turned on in the middle of the night, and the shadows, and seeing the man leaving her house hastily as if feet couldn't carry him away fast enough, he got it: Selina Kyle had fucked her stepbrother last night.

Then she had appeared at the door, looking, for the first time since he had met her, somewhat anxious. She had barely set foot outside before she went.

Holly went out, and he thought about warning her against her—walks, Holly needed to stay hidden, if people found out about her…it wouldn't be good… A couple of hours later Holly returned and Selina emerged again, walking hastily, without looking anywhere but the pavement. She returned a few minutes later, holding a package from a hardware store.

And Alex spent twenty four hours in front of her apartment…then here again, the next morning she sat in front of the stepbrother, as her usual annoyingly alluring self, red lips holding that sardonic smile, with no trace of yesterday's anxiety on her features. Whatever it was that had happened the day prior, it had passed.

The bitch had returned.

* * *

"Selina, a man approached me today, while I was doing the grocery shopping, a tall, dark man. He offered me money to spy on you."

She arched her eyebrow. "Did he?" Holly nodded. Selina smiled. "What did you do?"

Holly shrugged. "I took the money."

She laughed aloud. "Why, my dearest, well done, once again." Holly smiled wider. "Well, since you took the money, I think we have to return the good gesture. On our terms."

* * *

"What?" Valerie asked, jumping on her feet, her eyes wide.

"Thomas Elliot is at the entrance, asking for you." He paused for a second. "I asked him in but he said he would wait for you there."

She turned towards the main door. "Where is Bruce?"

"In the cave," Alfred replied evenly.

She paused at the door, and turned around, "Um, Alfred, is there any way that I could convince you not to mention this to Bruce?"

Alfred merely looked at her. She shrugged, opening the door with a sigh. "Well, it was worth a try."

* * *

_A/N: Here it is...Finally, I came to this point, all stones settling in their places for the showdown. __The next chapter will be a two parter, and it will end the first arc, and will start the second one._

_Life, Interrupted, is derived from 'Girl, Interrupted' (ah, do I need to mention to whom this refers? :D) and __The Encyclopedia of Senses, is a term that I saw in a short story once I read. (Again, can't remember which one, sorry) __For the canon references, Thomas Elliot canonly known as Hush, wants to be Bruce Wayne, gets his face changed to be like Bruce Wayne, and this is my interpretation of his tale._

_This chapter was a great writing experience for me, and I hope, __despite the angst,_ you had as much fun as I did while reading it.


	17. Emerging Circumstances - Part I

_Here, with the courtesy of Moonstruck Kitten, Cansei de Ser Sexy Entertainment proudly presents..._

**Chapter Fifteen: Emerging Circumstances**

**Part I of III**

* * *

"Thomas Elliot, what the hell do you think you are doing?"

He arched one eyebrow. "I wanted to talk with you."

"You could've called me," she bit out, "you know, like you always do."

"And would you've picked it up, Valerie?"

She let out a sigh. "Go away, Thomas. I can't deal with you now."

"Why, do you fear your boyfriend would learn what schemes you're weaving with Selina—" He paused. "Ah, but perhaps, he wouldn't mind it all that much, would he?"

"Go away," she repeated dangerously.

"What did Selina offer you? Or did you just do it because you're bored? You left the car to her too. What draws your interest more than establishing the point that you always win, Valerie? Ten men, the car, now Dylan too… He was ridiculously easy though, I have to admit. I watched the security tape. There's another feed sent directly to my home station."

_Oh, hell._ She glanced back to check on the hall. "Thomas, go, we can talk later if you want. But not now. For god's sake…" She pushed him back a little. "Just go."

He clutched her hand to his chest, and looked directly at her eyes. "Marry me."

"WHAT?"

"Marry me," he repeated.

"Oh god, give me a break!"

"Why not? I fit in all your criteria. I'm tall, dark, handsome, have lots of money, and I'm willing to be a fool for you too."

"What money?" she shot back, trying to free herself, "The one you took from the racketeers?!"

"That's different," he replied, holding firm. "Say yes, and I'll return to the company."

"Thomas, will you just go?" He gave her a simple look. Valerie huffed with annoyance. "You don't have to be a fool. You're already a fool. Do you think I'll put myself between you two? I won't be dragged into your stupid lustful dog-fight."

His grip tightened as he pulled her closer roughly. "Then care to explain what the fuck were you doing with Dylan?"

She stamped on his foot and tried to pull out of his grip. "None of your—"

"What's going on here?" Bruce demanded, cutting off her words.

She closed her eyes, letting out a deep loaded breath as Thomas let her hand go. _Just fucking great._

Bruce stopped between them, his eyes fixed on her. Thomas straightened his shoulders, regaining his composure then looked coolly at Bruce. "I believe I'm proposing to your girlfriend."

Bruce's attention wavered momentarily from her to Thomas. He arched his brow, but he held his rigid posture even as his eyes flashed with anger. "Do you understand that she is _my_ girlfriend?"

"Please, Wayne," Thomas countered with a mock of dryness, "She's the _girlfriend_ of half of freaking Gotham."

Valerie seethed in fury, "Will you just shut up," as Bruce, standing like a bomb ready to go off in any minute, hissed, "That's history. She's _only_ my girlfriend now."

"Oh, really?" Thomas barked out a laugh. "Then maybe she can explain what she was doing spending the night in Dylan Thorne's penthouse two days ago?"

Valerie exclaimed, "Will you just shut the FUCK up?" She could almost hear the noise Bruce's teeth made while his jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened.

Thomas on the other hand seemed to ignore the danger. "Was Selina with you too? It was her plan after all. She always claims threesomes are her favorite thing in the world." Valerie frowned; he already knew where she'd been; what was the point? Other than informing Bruce about Selina too, of course. Damn them, damn their scheming asses. "I'm wondering. How long exactly did it take to make Dylan talk? I'm sure he was pretty open after a _few_ first rounds."

Bruce pushed her aside, and took a threatening step toward Thomas. "Get out," he growled, "while you still can."

He didn't wait any longer, just turned on his heels, and drug her inside. His fingers dug into the flesh of her arm, cutting off her circulation. "Bruce—" she started.

"Shut up." he barked, "ALFRED," he yelled, pulling her up the steps. Alfred appeared in the hall, but Bruce didn't even spare him a glance. "Valerie and I are going to spend some quality time together. Unless it's something like the end of the world, I don't want to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

She tried to pull away, but he didn't let her. "Bruce, I didn't—"

"Shut up, Valerie, shut up now. You'll have your say soon enough."

He came to bedroom, slid the door open and threw her inside. He followed her in, then closed the door and locked it. "Okay, now you can talk."

"Bruce—I didn't sleep with him. I swear—"

"So that was the nothing that happened? You went with Dylan, spent the night in his penthouse, but _nothing_ happened. Somehow, whatever this is, Selina is involved too, of course, and Elliot, Thomas Elliot who just asked you to _marry_ him, thinks of it as just some plot to make Dylan Thorne talk whereas I was supposed to think you had some harmless fun. Valerie." He prowled, tense and threatening, "I'm going to ask this only once. What the hell is going on?"

"Okay, I'll explain," she said, then stopped and looked at him with widened eyes.

"Well," Bruce prompted, "I'm waiting."

"It's a long story. I don't know where to start."

"Start from the beginning."

"Okay, but you might want to sit down," she said, turning her eyes away from Bruce's glare.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Valerie, look at me." She didn't. "Valerie, look at me," he told this time with more edge. She turned her head, and he fastened his eyes on her. "Stop stalling, start talking. Now."

"It was Selina who turned Thomas into the police about the family heirlooms he had—snatched. Thomas learned her involvement via by his P.I and threatened her into coming to Gotham then had her thrown out the family because of her betrayal. His father decided family mattered more. Thomas was guilty but Selina was guiltier because of her tattling. Anyway, Selina wants to get back into her family, but she wants it happen in a very precise way. She wants Thomas to bring her inside again. You know better than me how they are."

Bruce shook his head. "So she needed to have leverage to…persuade him to that end. She believes he's gotten involved in something not quite legitimate… She wanted to learn how he opened the club, so she could threaten him with it. Thomas is too cunning to crack for something like this, so she thought Dylan might know something—"

Bruce grabbed her at shoulders. "And what? Did you go and offer help? I told you to go to a club, to have some time away from me… Valerie…" He looked at her. "We were trying…I tried—Valerie, are you really feeling that cornered by your feelings? Not just a stranger in a restroom but them… Our thing overwhelms you that much? Dammit—" He pushed her to the wall. "Last time, it was a bet with Elliot, then a quicky with Selina, now this? Tell me—tell me, Valerie. Is this the price I have to pay? Do I have to share you with others to keep you beside me?" His grip tightened as his voice rose. She shook her head. "You helped Selina make Dylan talk… slept with him—to feel like old days. Did you take drugs too, for god's sake?"

"No, no, I didn't… I didn't sleep with him either—I swear I didn't." She shook her head again fiercely, not even trying to keep her tears at bay anymore, her accent slipping in her tone. She raised her arms under his grip, and caught his face. "_You have to believe me!_"

He narrowed his eyes then suddenly let go, took a step back, and threw his arms into air. "Oh, GOD!" He yelled. "That's why you returned like that, isn't it? You _wanted to_ sleep with him, but couldn't, then you came back here, and fucked _me_ instead—God…" He breathed, then went to his wet bar, and poured himself a double shot of whiskey. He swallowed the drink in one go. "I told you to come to me, I told you to come to me."

"I—can't—!" She dropped to her knees, braced her hands on the floor, tears flowing. Bruce watched her. "I—can't—" She sniffed trying to breathe through her sobs, her face reddening. Growing out of his stupor Bruce rushed to her side. "Valerie—calm down, Val, calm down—"

She mumbled, words unrecognizable as Bruce held her, "Valerie, calm down—I can't understand you."

She clutched on his neck, desperate to reach him. "Please—don't give up on me—"

"Valerie—"

"I'll tell—don't know how…can't… help—me…" She whimpered, clutching him tighter, "Not worth it, don't deserve it…but…you…all I have…have nothing else, want nothing else... Didn't sleep with him."

Cradling her, he pulled them upright. "Calm down, god, calm down… For God's sake," he walked toward bed, "I should shout at you, not comfort you—" he muttered.

"Not acting—" she murmured, the faint accent getting even heavier.

"I don't think you're acting to escape my fury. Val, I don't… God—"

"Father…says acting…all the time…"

"Valerie—forget all the things he told you, okay?" He dropped her on the bed, and sat beside her. "Only remember the things I tell you."

She slid herself toward him, rested her head against his chest. "Want to tell you…confess…don't know how." Bruce closed his eyes. "Won't like it, think bring only trouble."

"Valerie, stop the nonsense. Or else I'll really begin to think you're acting. You talk to me all the time…"

"I'm coerced… we push each other…then I cave in…."

"You told me about masquerading as a psychiatrist. There was no pushing with that. You came forward willingly."

"Wanted to be here, wanted you. Needed a reason to show up…stay… gave up another secret. Payment in advance."

Bruce let out a loaded sigh. "So you want to confess now but you don't know—how?"

"You won't like it," she mumbled again.

"Tell me anyway."

She stayed silent. "Valerie, tell me, you want to tell me, that's why we're having this conversation. You want to tell me, so tell me."

She still stayed silent.

His voice risen up, edging with the familiar rasp. "Valerie, you'll talk to me now."

"I didn't want to go… overwhelmed, but not that much… Selina has leverage over me," she whispered.

"What?"

"She's threatening me."

He looked at her suspicious. "Valerie—of all people, what can she threaten you with?"

"She knows about you," she whispered before she broke out of his embrace and ran to the bathroom.

* * *

Half an hour and another glass of whiskey later, Bruce decided enough was enough. "Valerie, you can't hide in there forever. At some point you're going to have to come out."

"I'll take my chances," she said and although the words were muffled they sounded more collected.

"Okay, fine," he said. "You have one hour. Compose yourself, take a shower, and be ready for a long talk when I come back. And if I don't see you here, sitting on the bed when I return, I'll break in and haul you out myself."

He left the room, deliberately letting the door slam to let her know that she was alone. He went to the study, sat on the couch, and took his bowed head between his hands. Selina knew about him. Selina Kyle—Selina freaking Kyle knew his goddamn secret.

A few minutes later, Alfred came in. "Master Wayne, is everything all right?" He shook his head. "Why did Mr. Elliot come?"

"Nothing serious," he let out a dry laugh, lifting his head up. "He came to propose her."

Alfred's eyebrow lifted up. "Oh."

Bruce gave out another laugh. "It seems he grew jealous when she spent her girl's-night-out in Dylan Thorne's penthouse."

"Oh," Alfred said again.

"You might want to hold back those 'oh's' till you hear the rest of the story."

He told him everything he knew and when he was done, he sighed. "I didn't expect flowers and kittens but I didn't expect this either, Alfred." He looked up. "Just a few weeks… First Ramirez, now Selina. Ramirez was easier to digest, she was already involved. She already knew about Harvey Dent, and she was able to sell her the silent funder nonsense…but Selina…" He let out another sigh.

Alfred remained silent then said with half a smirk, "On the bright side, sir, you know now that she's not overwhelmed enough to snap and run off."

"Not yet, Alfred," Bruce responded gravely, "the key word is _yet_."

"Well, Master Wayne, I told you she had better defenses."

Bruce's lips pulled out with a bitter smile. "So you did, Alfred, so you did." He gave a look at the watch on his wrist. "I'd better to go and check on her. If I'm just a little bit lucky, she'll be out of the bathroom."

Thanks to all things sacred and godly, it turned out he was at least a little bit lucky.

She didn't lift her head when he entered, but he saw her glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed, studying her nails intently as Bruce let the door close and crossed to her.

Her hair was wet, her face flushed, and she looked fresh. Good, she had taken his advice. "I'm glad you decided to come out."

She finally lifted her head. "I didn't want to bother you with breaking down the door."

"Thank you, golden-heart," Bruce scoffed before he continued, "Are you feeling okay to talk?"

"You ask that as if you would let me go if I say no." He merely looked at her. Pulling her legs up, she sighed. "Well, it appears I'm able to speak in full sentences now."

"I'm relieved."

She waved her hand toward him. "I'll talk. But you really might want to sit down."

"That bad, huh?"

She shrugged a little as Bruce settled himself on the armchair in front of the bed. "Okay. Do you remember the black costumed woman that was sighted the night you were shot?" Bruce scowled. "I told you it was me. I lied. It wasn't me, it was Selina."

Bruce drew in a sharp breath, she shrugged again. "I needed help, Bruce. Your trust in my abilities is flattering, but I can't do everything myself. I needed someone to distract and draw the guards out while I planted the bombs. Selina did the distracting, and I did the planting. But she saw the bombs had Wayne Tech logos, and then you were away from society after you were shot… I guess she connected the dots…"

"I tried to feed her the silent partner routine but she's really smart, and she knows you quite well. She claims that your first time with her was something—" She gave him a questioning look, "unique. She also didn't buy us being involved in open relationship, saying that you can't be involved in an open relationship, and you know…she's right. You're not—uh, the sharing type."

Bruce scowled further. "So you two sat and talked about my sexual preferences?"

"Why not? We both have some experience in that department after all."

He sent her another pointed look. "I'm trying to make you understand. I didn't believe she would figure it out when I asked her help. But she figured out more than that."

The scowl immediately turned into a trademark Bruce Wayne-glare, "Meaning?"

"She knows you didn't kill Dent and the other cops too."

"What?" he exclaimed.

"I didn't tell her that. She figured it out all by herself. As I told you, she connected the dots. By the way, she has some mole inside Wayne Inc., someone from the Security Department. You'll have to deal with him too, I guess. And for god's sake," she said, remembering another thing, "Do something about the things in Archives. She found those too. That's twice now that people have found your dirty laundry."

Bruce's face was thunderous, as he leaned forward. "Valerie, let me make sure I've got this right: You knew I have a rat inside the company and you didn't think it might be a good idea to tell me?" He sprang to his feet. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"How do you suppose I should have told you? Selina said as long as I kept her happy, she'd deal with him. He doesn't know anything particular, he just digs for Selina."

Bruce seethed through his teeth. "Dent and others?"

"I have no fault there," she countered quickly. "I told her she was trying to threaten a vigilante's girlfriend that is wanted for murder, and she threw it back in my face." She sighed. "She's really smart. She noticed the discrepancies in your life, in our lies, in your lies regarding Dent. She searched and noticed something everyone else refuses to see. All the cops were murdered by gunshots, and everyone knows Batman hates guns. She heard the talk that Dent had been seen casing the bars, looking for the police officers, and how he refused to take pain killers…, Rachel's death…, and you… As I said, she connected the dots. She didn't exactly know what happened, she even said she didn't care…but she made very good guesses." She paused and her eyes flicked outside. "She even had a theory about me, but she told me it's so implausible that she can't bring herself to believe it. She told me a story… about a girl… Bruce," her eyes found his. "She knows about me too. She can't believe it, but she knows. She knows I was Cameron Reese."

Bruce threw his head back. "Valerie, I can't believe, I can't, I mean really _can't_ believe you didn't tell me all of these things before."

"I wanted to, Bruce, I _really_ did, but I couldn't. I was dealing with her. She said it was between us, and didn't plan to expand it any further…for the moment." She paused for a second, "It might be that you've piqued her interest again," she finished, scowling.

He sighed deeply and sat. "There is still something that doesn't make sense here. You're not telling me everything."

"I did," she answered.

"No, no you didn't." He found her eyes, held them, "You didn't tell me how exactly you convinced Selina to help you." A look of worry appeared on her features. "You're still trying to hold back information. Damn it, Valerie, tell me everything!"

She bit her lip. "I—uh, I might have threatened her a little at first."

Bruce leaped to his feet. "I knew it! Okay, what are you two playing at when you're not threatening each other?"

"Do you remember that dinner party, the one where we—um, had that fight after and you tore me to shreds?" Bruce scowled, sending her a disapproving glare. "Did you know Mr. Andrews is a die-hard fan of curious antiques?"

"Yes," Bruce answered, arching his eyebrow suspiciously.

"Well, he had bought two cat statues from black market, and Selina—liberated them," she said bluntly. "And I kind of walked on her."

"What?" he exclaimed.

"I—um-I'm—I'm trying to explain this as simply as possible," she shrugged. "I can't say any other way. Thomas got her thrown out of the family, so she had to resolve to that. But I think she'd been planning it for a while. It was her idea, stealing the family heirlooms. First she sold the idea to Thomas then turned him over to the police."

"Valerie," he shook his head, "What were you thinking while getting yourself into the middle of this…this…_this_?"

"I was going to deal with her, Bruce. I've got leverage in my hands too, I know her secret. She got me this time but I won't be bullied forever."

"Yes, honey, excellent plan!" He yelled, "Deal with her…like anything you've ever dealt with has ever ended up in anywhere good."

She sent him a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means whenever you plan something it ends up as a tremendous clusterfuck."

The woman who couldn't even talk in complete sentences half an hour ago was gone in the blink of an eye and in her place was a woman of stone and fury. "I made a choice, Bruce. You were there, bleeding to death, and I couldn't leave you. I made a choice," she repeated, "and any consequences of that choice faded next to that reality. That's my choice, and I don't regret it, and if I'm to be completely honest with you, I can't guarantee that I won't do it again—No, don't interrupt me," she raised her hand. "I made a choice and I was trying to take responsibility for it. It might be reckless, it might not be clever. Perhaps it was even a mistake. But I can live with a mistake, and you know that. I can bear the consequences of it."

"Valerie," Bruce said evenly. "Do you really bear the consequences of your choice… your mistake?" Her head snapped back to him, "No, don't look at me like that. I'm not talking about getting fed up with your bullshit and throwing the towel in. No, I'm talking about other possibilities. Within a single night you let my secret out to two people, Valerie, two people. What if Selina decides to sell her knowledge to the highest bidder? What if that man puts the dots next to each other and goes to police? Then what would happen?"

Her voice cracked, as she looked at him with wide eyes, "Bruce—"

"Yes, Valerie, have you ever thought about it?"

"I—she won't tell…she doesn't care… she just wants to play… Bruce…I wouldn't let that happen…" She shook her head fiercely. "I _won't_ let that happen, never, no matter what. _Never._"

"Think about it, Valerie. Stand up," he ordered, and held her by shoulders. "Look at me. You'll leave Selina to me. You won't talk with her again. If she calls you, you won't answer it. You'll tell me instead. You're stepping down from this, and I'll deal with it. Understood?"

She nodded.

"No, I want to hear your promise."

"I—I promise."

"Now, answer my question. But don't lie. I won't get angry at you—much. Did you sleep with Thorne?"

"No."

"Why were you such a mess when you returned?" He paused. "Because you were feeling guilty?"

"I did something I shouldn't have done, I knew it. I was violating your trust."

"What happened that night?"

"I went to his club. Selina—uh—lured Thomas out for the night. Dylan was alone. I made him send away the staff. We had a few drinks, flirted. Then we went to his penthouse. I made him drink a lot… then we talked, then he dozed off…I waited till dawn, then returned to the manor."

"And nothing happened while you were trying to get him drunk?"

She raised her eyes to his. "I know how to fend off men's advances."

"I saw you with Ivanokovic."

"That was different." She shook her head. "I was supposed to be a call girl, but this time it was me… and I didn't want Ivanokovic to touch me even then. His every touch was raising bile in my throat."

"You hid it very well though."

"I was confused…I shouldn't have been affected by it that much…but I, um, I was." Bruce looked at her. "I didn't sleep with him. It's not possible, not anymore. I—tried to kiss him…just a kiss…while he was sleeping, and couldn't."

He nodded. "Valerie, you ask for my trust, you want it, it's important to you, I know. I know exactly how important it is to you. And you have it. But I have to say you're not doing a good job of keeping it."

"You—you're giving up on me?" she asked, eyes watering, voice breaking.

He pulled her closer. "I put a tracking device in your bracelet the other morning. I'm telling you this because I want all things to be open between us. I trust you, but the tracking device will stay, and you won't take it out."

She bowed her head, mumbled, "Okay."

He touched her chin. "And I'm not giving upon you."

She trembled, then opened her mouth. "Br-Bruce—I—I—"she stuttered, Bruce got closer, and waited to hear the words…he'd been waiting them for a long time, god, for a long time, then she blurted out, "I called someone."

"WHAT?!"

"I called one of my old acquaintances."

Her shoulder was caught inside a forceful grip as her back hit the wall. "You'll be the death of me," he hissed before catching her lips in a fiery kiss.

x

Nevertheless, the anger sex had never been this good before. Several hours later, after all the frustration and anger were channeled out of him in tortuous but amazingly pleasurable ways, Bruce let her go.

She stayed silent for a while, on the floor, close to naked but not quite, then told him hesitantly, "I called—"

"Phone?" he questioned.

"Not the one you gave me, the pre-paid one that I have in my stash." Bruce shook his head. "Jeremy is a good source, he knows quite a lot about what happens in London."

Bruce couldn't help with his snicker, "Another old lover?"

"No, Jeremy and I were strictly professional—" She paused at his skeptical look, and amended, "Mostly professional…" Bruce grunted. "She has to have someone—some partner in London, I'm sure of it. An amateur can't get something like that out, and Selina is new to Gotham. If I'm right something is bound to turn up. You can't hide something like that indefinitely; antiques always leave a trace."

"Were you right?"

"I don't know," she let out a defeated sigh. "I didn't call him back."

"When did you call him, Valerie?" he asked, even though he had a very good guess by now.

"The night you went to Arkham."

"After you kicked me out of bed?"

She nodded. Bruce closed his eyes, questions—the mysterious message—her nightmare—came to the tip of his tongue, demanded to be spoken. He wanted to question her further, bleed all the answers out, it was just the tip of the iceberg, he knew it with a certain clarity, and the invisible part of the iceberg was entirely visible now, but still, he kept his silence. He was tired. He'd always known this wasn't going to be easy, but he hadn't guessed it would be this hard.

"You didn't ask me what I discovered from Dylan," she said after a while.

Bruce tensed, and tightened his grip. "I'm not interested—"

"He took money from Derrick," she cut him off.

For an answer, Bruce growled.

* * *

Bruce looked at the phone laying the work station, plugged into the computers. Jeremy Hendricks. According to Valerie, he was safe and sound as long as he was kept happy but he didn't need Valerie to tell him that the dealer's happiness was based solely on the little green pieces of paper. "What would he do if you don't call him back?"

"Probably think I'm trying to double cross him. I didn't call him before because I didn't want to—endanger us more—" He gave a derisive sniff at that, which she pretended not to hear. "But sooner or later I was going to need to make the call. If he does the work for me but doesn't get paid for his troubles, he won't like it."

He nodded. What he really wanted to do was yell at the top of his lungs that how she could have been that reckless, that imprudent, that stupid but he kept his resolve, held it like he was holding onto the edge of a cliff, and focused on the precautions that needed to be taken. "I'm erasing all traces of this line," he said. "When I'm finished, I'll have Fox check it over to be completely sure. We'll make sure that there is nothing on his computer that would comprise your location. I'm planning to give him a visit."

"To London?"

"Yes." She bit her bottom lip, but Bruce continued before she could even start. "No, you'll stay here. And I mean it." She glared at him for a moment, and Bruce glared back, almost wishing she would make an objection so he could have a reason to shout at her. But as always, smart girl she was, she stayed in silence, waving her hand in the air.

"You'll contact him through one of our untraceable lines, and soothe him. We'll make a payment regardless of the information. Then this episode will be closed, hopefully forever."

She nodded. "I'll put him under surveillance though for a little while, to be entirely sure."

She nodded again. "Okay."

* * *

"Selina," Holly called from the threshold of the bedroom, "_Bruce Wayne_ is here to see you. What should I do, let him in?"

Her hands halted in the wardrobe, where they'd been searching through her clothes and she turned toward her entourage. "Already?" She shook her head as Holly's lips trembled with a barely contained smile. "Hah! I thought she would last longer." Holly gave up and smiled, and Selina smiled back too. "All right then… Let's deal with it, dearie. Let him in."

Holly retreated dutifully as Selina gazed at herself in the mirror. She brushed her hair to the back of her neck then slowly dropped the silky robe over her shoulders to the floor. She put crimson lipstick on her lips, and put on black shoes.

She heard the doors open, then heard Holly's welcome. After a second, the young girl informed her, "Selina, Mr. Wayne is waiting." Her smile grew wider as she turned on her heels, and walked out of her bedroom.

"Holly, dearie," she called to the girl while trotting down along the corridor, her heels clicking rhythmically on the floor. "Could you go and pick up our laundry? I have literally—" She halted on the threshold of the living room, and smirked wickedly at Bruce, "nothing to wear."

Bruce glowered at her. Her smirk grew into a smile, and Selina strutted into the room then posed herself on the biggest armchair. "Bruce Wayne," her arms and legs circled over her body to cover herself a little bit. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Put something on, Selina. You can't throw me off with these things." He paused to give her a look. "I live with Valerie."

Selina smiled further. "Now, Bruce, is that the way to greet an old friend? Where are the kisses and hugs?"

"This isn't our first meeting. When you saw me last, you said 'get out of my way, you loser'."

She furrowed her brows. "Did I?"

"Yes."

"Hmm…I see."

"Put a robe on, Selina."

"Why? It isn't like you're seeing anything you haven't seen before." She cocked her head. "Does nudity bother you?"

"No…but it's not—decent."

She let out a hard laugh, tossing her head back. "I think I'm entitled to decide what's decent and what's not since this is my house. But if it disturbs you that much you may take your leave. I'll try not to take offense."

"Put something on," Bruce repeated, hissing through his teeth.

She threw her hands to sides, smiling apologetically. "A little wardrobe malfunction, I really have nothing to wear. Unless," she paused then rose a little, "you want me to put on my costume, of course."

Bruce gave her another glare, stood up and took out his jacket. He threw it to her. Laughing, Selina took it and put it on, then she settled down again. "I was expecting to see you much later, to tell the truth. You cracked her early. I'm—impressed."

"Elliot decided to pay her a visit last night," Bruce seethed.

"Ahh…did he? Of course," she answered back laughing. "I gave him a visit yesterday morning."

"He proposed to her," Bruce said abruptly and watched the smug expression on Selina's face and the smile on her lips fall.

Then she nodded. "What did she say?"

Bruce leaned forward and braced his elbow on his knees, hands clenched. "She said _no_. She's with me. She's—"

Selina climbed to her feet, cutting his words in half. "Do you mind?" She started to play with her phone beside the buffet next to her seat. "Let's make a call. It might interest you too."

She pressed on speakers aloud and leaned on the buffet as her phone rang. "What?" Thomas answered curtly.

"Tiffany or Cartier?" she asked. "I'm wondering."

"Nothing, I didn't offer a ring."

Bruce grimaced.

"Proposing to a girl without a pretty stone? No wonder you got refused, silly."

"What do you want, Selina?"

"I've had a change of heart. I think Sunday brunches are very important family matters. I want to participate in one next weekend."

"Have you lost your mind? Next weekend? Rupert doesn't even want to hear your name."

"Not-my-problem," she shot back and bent her head to get closer to her phone. "Thomas, if I don't walk into the next brunch party in that stupid castle of yours on your arm, I'll be very disappointed. And you know very well; much like my misery, my disappointment likes company too." She closed the phone and turned to Bruce. "Now, Bruce, tell me whatever you're going to say and leave. I've lost enough time with you as it is. I have things to do."

Bruce stood up too. "You're playing a very dangerous game," he said. "First you stole—"

She looked at him mockingly before cutting him off. "You aren't going to bore me with your righteousness, are you?"

"You play a very dangerous game," Bruce repeated, voice acute and curt now. "Those men…they are not like—"

"You're worried about me? I'm touched."

"Selina, listen to me. I don't care what games you're playing with Thomas, but understand this: Valerie is off-limits. You won't bother her again. You won't bother me again either. We're—we are both off-limits. Do you think you can deal with me? Think again, Selina."

She raised her chin up. "Are you threatening me, Bruce Wayne?"

"Take it whatever way you want. I'm just saying that Valerie is off-limits." He closed on in her and looked in her eyes. "We've known each other for a long time. I know you trust in that. But Selina, if you ever bother her again, I'll forget who you are. Do you understand?"

Selina took a step forward too, getting even closer. "You want me to think? I suggest you start doing so too. I don't take threats well."

"Not my problem."

Selina smiled gently, cocking her head. "It's funny, isn't it? We—Valerie and I are really alike… You want her, Thomas even proposed her… Do you think you can tame her? Let's see it then." She took a step back, took his jacket off and offered it back to him. "Now, kindly see yourself out. I have so much to do—schemes to weave, lives to ruin, _threats_ to deal."

* * *

John came to find her following Bruce's visit. _Of course_.

"Not losing any time," Selina greeted at him with a laugh, standing in the middle of her living room, "Not at all."

"Selina," John said exasperatedly, "this morning my pass card was blocked and I learned that I was sacked. What's happening?"

"New things, darling, new happenings," she smiled at him. "But don't you worry, it's probably better if you get out from there now."

"Selina, I lost my job."

"It wasn't a good job anyway." He gave her a look. She patted him, smiling. "Don't worry, John, I'll keep you occupied."

"Will you?"

"Absolutely! New happenings, see? But let's have breakfast first." She pushed him back on the armchair, propped her hips at the armrest and looked down at him. "My contact in London is soon to make me very happy, and once that occurs, I'll make you very happy too." She gave the man another smile. "You don't need to worry, John, we still have so much to do."

* * *

She was definitely up to something.

The morning following her meeting with her stepbrother, Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, looking more solemn he'd ever seen in him, had come to her apartment.

He had left fourteen minutes later.

Then the Glasses guy came again, looking crushed. He'd researched about the guy and found that he was working for Wayne Enterprises, Security Development Department, and thus the mystery of his bugs had been solved, but that was the only mystery he had managed to solve. All those people were tied to each other, but to what end he couldn't figure out, not yet. But they were certainly odd people, to say at least, even by his standards.

Another quick bout of research had brought to light a slew of relationship ties between the two girls, Valerie and Selina that tied in both Bruce Wayne and the stepbrother in multiple ways that were only fit for daytime television. It didn't make any sense at all, but Alex still knew she was up to something.

The door of his car opened suddenly, and the woman who had occupied much of his time the past few weeks was sending a nasty glower at him from the passenger seat of his car.

"Sel—"

"Shut up and drive," she snapped.

He did, he drove to the outskirts of Gotham, out of the city, and during the trip she didn't even open her mouth. He turned off the motor in a small grove, on the edge of the Reynolds Park. As soon as the car stopped, Selina turned to him, her eyes thunderous. "I'm getting bored of you," she hissed between clenched lips. "What part didn't you get from 'we're done now'?"

He merely looked at her then said, "You're up to something."

She fumed even more. "It's none of your business."

"You—"

"No, you don't understand," she cut him off flatly, "My business has nothing to do with _yours_. We made a deal, and it's done now, we're done now. I paid you, and you'll leave us alone."

"You're putting both of us in jeopardy." She looked at him tersely. "Holly," he explained, "You have to send her away, she can't stay in Gotham."

She shook her head. "No, Holly stays with me."

"She's out on the streets all day. Andrei's still looking for her."

She remained silent for a second, her eyes thoughtful then she nodded. "I'll—I'll make her stay put—but she stays," she said and repeated fiercely, "She stays with me. And you, Alex, will make sure Andrei won't learn anything about her. We're together in this, you took the money. If something happens to her, my displeasure will be very severe."

His displeasure was very severe already. He moved his hand away from the wheel, and grabbed her hair. He fisted his fingers through the soft dark hair, and pulled her head back, she let out a sharp grunt of pain, and he knew he shouldn't focus on how her lips cracked to make the sound out of back of her throat... "I'm getting bored of you too, bitch," He grunted out, "Of your constant threats. Now, you really shouldn't let me get bored of you—"he couldn't continue the rest of his own threat, she twirled herself around his grip, her hair wrapped around his wrist, and attacked him.

She was how he had remembered…fierce, brutal, but full of grace—a grace of a ballerina…a black swan…tempting, enticing, and deadly. Her fist crushed his jaw, then his head crashed into the window, with one hand he pushed her off him as pulling the door open with other. The door opened, he threw himself down on the barren grass, pulling her along.

They rolled over the grass, him under her, hands trying to catch each other, kicks coming below, then her hand found his hair again, she grabbed his head and hit it on the earth, forcefully. He grabbed hers too, pulled down, toward his forehead. They collided with a rough thud. She screamed, and bit his ear. He growled in return, pulled his head away, she followed, twisted her head, then their lips brushed momentarily.

He halted his motions, as she slowed hers too, but didn't move her lips away. He titled his head further to catch her lips fully, her hands still fisted through his hair. She didn't respond though, just stayed still, then pushed herself off him, and stood up. She looked at him hard. "Don't fall in love with me, Alex," she warned sternly. "You and I—we have nothing in common."

Sprawled out at her feet, he looked back at her. "We have Holly."

She shook his head. "No. _I_ have Holly. You have nothing." She gave him another stern look, and repeated, "Don't fall in love with me. It's really nothing about me, it's only about you."

"Because I'm a bad person?"

She didn't even hesitate, "Yes."

He stood up, walked to the car. She followed him too. The drive was as silent as it was before, and when he approached her block, he stopped the car. "Holly stays with me," she said once again. He nodded. "You'll stop this stupidity, and will leave us alone."

He nodded again. "I only want to see you again, when we're in trouble. Am I clear enough?"

"Yes."

"Good," she opened the door and walked out.

* * *

_Heh, as you can see, I was really waiting to come to this confrontation :) And, I want an applause for Valerie since she _finally_ confessed something without probing :)_

_I'm not done yet, instead of two, this is going to a three part adventure :p_

_Later,_

_G._


	18. Emerging Circumstances - Part II

_A/N: Today is a very important day for me, and I'm sort of celebrating in every possible way, so an early update. Enjoy._

**Chapter Sixteen: Emerging Circumstances**

**Part II of III**

* * *

His clothes soaked, his long wet hair plastered on his forehead, Jeremy walked into his bunker in a foul mood. He was a true Londoner, born and bred, and he loved his city, really he did. London had a soul, different from all of her counterparts in the world; ever-bright New York would never have its history, ever historical Rome would never duplicate its spontaneity, ever melancholy Paris would never match its savage energy, but sometimes, he just hated it, hated the ever-ending rain and gloomy mist.

Though, if he was completely honest with himself, his fool mood was not because of the weather; although it had been raining cats and dogs for three bloody day, non-stop. Nor was it because he had fallen in a pool of rainwater down to in his knee before he had walked into his bunker. Nor was it the fact that he'd escaped from his third car accident in this week by a hairs breadth.

No. All of those unfortunate accidents had been bad enough, but they wouldn't be enough to put the ever bright hacker into his current foul mood, and bullocks, he had a reputation to maintain, and these mood swings weren't helping the matter.

Felicia, he thought, throwing his soaked shoes and jeans off. She should have already called him back.

In his line of business, only a few things were solely about business; for example, cracking into a database for a rival company was about business, but cracking into a government agency website, or into the Secret Service's supposedly secure servers was about reputation, which was something someone needed in gallons if one decided to make a career in hacking. And for this very reason, when he did something _solely_ for business, he usually tended to want to be paid, and paid handsomely.

He changed into another pair of jeans and shirt before he sat in front of his computer hub, holding a beer and a slice of pizza that had been left the day before, and looked at the screen in front of him.

The trace of the call was still going around the globe. The line was a curious case, one of the reasons why he was on pin and needles frankly, a hard nut to crack for a pre-paid phone. It was almost as if someone had put extra care that it wasn't traced, and he guessed that would be quite impossible unless you had somehow wormed your way into the Communication Agency's satellites. One of those accomplishments for fame, or infamy rather.

He frowned at his screen, and weighed the possibility of a sellout from the red lipped witch. Admittedly, Fi had never been one for loyalty, she always served herself, but she was a good pal, she wasn't one to sell her—friends without a good reason, and she knew Jeremiah Hendricks was the best hacker that money could ever buy.

She wouldn't want to make him unhappy.

A good reason, he thought again, frowning. A good reason. And that was the problem. He couldn't find or think of a single reason for the lack of communication, and that disturbed him even more than her silence. He entered a few codes to his database, cut a few of blocks over here and there, and connected it to the satellite. The lines shifted across his digital world map and he entered another set of codes and watched as the trail went cold once again.

* * *

Thomas looked at the man sitting in front of him, and scowled. These little unexpected visits were becoming bothersome. This nightclub, this fucking thing hadn't brought him anything but trouble, he thought grudgingly, before his thoughts tried to turn to that other topic, but he didn't let them stray. He turned to his—guest. "The payment date still hasn't come, Derrick, may I learn the purpose of this sudden visit?"

The young racketeer angled his head to give him a look. "I like that the most about you, Thomas," he commented, "you're not the one to mince the words. In fact this is the reason why I decided to help you when you came to ask my aide." He sent Derrick a silent blank look, and the other man laughed faintly, the sound almost like a ruffle, then he explained, "I need to see someone and thought I could use our—place."

He scowled further. "This is my place."

"Not until you pay me back to the last penny, Thomas. Until then, it's mine."

Times like these, he regretted his decision about this racketeering guy the most. Selina, then his thoughts abruptly turned to her with anger, before he could do anything else, his jaw clenched, his teeth gritted even with the mere thought of her name. Selina, the backstabbing, scheming, snake of a witch of a woman, it was all of her fault. He should have never let her get under his skin so much, he should have never—ever listened to her; every time, every single time, he had decided to trust her, she had proved herself not to be trusted ever again and oddly enough, every time he had trusted her again, only to be stabbed in the back once again. Next time, when he fucked her, he was going to remember that, all way through, he was going to remember that.

Two of Derrick's men brought—shoved a man inside the club, an average man of an average height and weight, in mediocre clothes, plain. He slanted a look over the men, and arched one eyebrow at the racketeer. If he forced himself, he could think of him as a business partner, but the problem was Derrick was treating him not as a partner but like his boss. Leaning back on his seat, Thomas waved a careless flick of wrist over the men, and remarked. "I run a legitimate business. I can't tolerate to be seen involved with your—work."

Derrick took a sip from his liquor and eyed him with amusement. "You run a night club, Thomas. If you're not seen with my kind of work you're not doing your work."

"Who's this man," he asked finally, "What did he do?"

"His name is Lodi, and he thought he could steal from me and get away with it."

"Oh."

"Yes," Derrick nodded as the man trembled on his legs; the other two grabbed him by the shoulders. "Yes, some people are really very optimistic."

"I guess."

"But he only did it because he's a good son," Derrick said. Thomas snapped his head to him. "He's a good soon, a mother's dream." He titled his head at one of his men, and they settled him on the opposite chair at the table. Thomas's eyes narrowed suspiciously as Derrick went on. "His mother is diabetic, and he needed the money—for the automatic insulin shots." His eyes turned back to the trembling guy, "How much does that machinery cost, Lodi?"

"One thousand," the man sputtered meekly, eyes cast down.

Derrick turned his attention back to him. "Do you know how much he stole from me, Thomas?"

"One thousand?"

Derrick gave him a mocking look. "One hundred and fifty thousand." He turned back to the fool. "But how much money was there, Lodi?"

"I—I don't know."

"Five hundred thousand," Derrick informed both of them, as Thomas held back a sigh. This thing—whatever it was, had started to get on his nerves. The racketeer kept his eyes on the fool, ignoring Thomas's presence. "Did you bring my money back, Lodi?"

"Ye—yes, Derrick," Lodi sputtered. One of Derrick's men took a step forward and showed him a metal case, and nodded. "Very well," Derrick said, and the poor trembling guy looked at him with eyes widened with fear and Derrick tilted his head to the man who had showed him the money.

Thomas waited for the man to pull out a gun, and wished he could get in between, this was his—work, his place…but the bodyguard instead took out a phone. "Take the phone."

Thomas's eyebrows lifted as he looked at them questionably, and the guy looked lost. Derrick ordered once again, "Take the phone, and talk to your mother, Lodi."

The poor fool talked to his mother, first with fear, then with puzzlement, then with tears in his eyes. He closed the phone, tears still shinning in his eyes, "You did this?"

"You did it, Lodi," Derrick answered. "We only helped you, because you're a good son."

"I did none of the things she said—"

"But you wanted to."

"Is she—is she in trouble?"

"Did she sound like she is in trouble?" Derrick asked, "No, she's happy, because her son is every mother's dream."

"Why—why?"

"I believe," Derrick replied, "We need to start from somewhere to show mercy, Lodi. It's a circle… a concept. Some people call it karma but I call it the only sensible solution to the world's problems… You stole a part of the money because you're poor and your mother is ill, and left the rest untouched. That was very stupid, and foolish, but it was very noble too, and I always try to reward nobility; it's such a rare thing these days."

He stood up, walked toward Lodi, his men pulled the man on his feet. Derrick grabbed him from the shoulders and looked straight in his eyes, his gaze unwavering. Thomas scowled , not understanding who this little demonstration was supposed to be for. "I sent her an insulin machine along with many gifts, Lodi, and told her it was you who had sent them. And we will set her in a hospital to get her a good treatment, and she will be happy, all of her remaining days."

"In exchange for what?"

Derrick leaned towards him, "For your loyalty, for your upmost loyalty, Lodi. You're my people now."

The man nodded, tears still in his eyes, and his men escorted him out. Thomas watched their retreating backs and turned to the racketeer. "What was the purpose of that little show? Trying to buy my loyalty?"

"Your loyalty?" Derrick asked, sounding amused. "Thomas, I don't have any delusions to think that you're loyal anyone but yourself," he paused. "This show wasn't for your benefit, but if you take some pointers from it, I'm humbly honored." He returned to his seat and stretched his legs. "I just needed some place that's not intimidating. Scaring the shit out of people doesn't work in the long run, humanity is far more complex."

"So you prefer more delicate ways."

"I don't believe in being—intimidating."

"The money he stole, he didn't take only for his mother's illness, didn't he?"

"What happened isn't important. The fact is that he only took a part of it, and that's what matters. The rest isn't relevant anymore."

"Because now he's in your debt, and you hold his fate in your hands?" Thomas wondered what it would feel like to have such power over someone, possessing the power to make someone happy as easily as you could make them unhappy. In any definition of the word, playing God. Momentarily his mind went to the day he'd been drugged by the fear toxin, and the nightmares... He grimaced.

Derrick stood up, and his men stirred, preparing to leave, and before Derrick left his place, he turned back and told over his shoulder, "No, because no man is an island, Thomas."

He watched their retreating backs as he pushed the sounds of the darkness back where they belonged, in the dark passages of his mind, together with the feeling of desolation, and the feeling of failure in the deep of his stomach.

* * *

Bruce walked through the main doors, dropping his backpack on the way to stairs. "Where is she, Alfred?"

"In the study, waiting for your return, sir," Alfred answered, picking up the backpack as Bruce took the stairs two at a time. He was tired, having flown back and forth around the globe, without sleeping for more than two days, the jetlag was wearing on him; but he needed to finish something before he could sleep. He needed to talk to her, for the last time, make her understand his issues with a perfect clarity then he could breathe again.

But first…a quick bath… It wasn't the best time of year for quick trip to London, he mused, looking at his soaked clothes. "Okay, keep her there, I'll be there soon." Alfred nodded. "What did she do while I was away? Behaved?"

"Perfectly," Alfred answered. Bruce nodded back.

He took a quick shower, changed into casual pants and shirt and hurried to the study. She was pacing through the room when he walked in, but upon seeing him she stopped and rushed over. "Bruce!" she called, "When did you get back? Why didn't you tell me? I was waiting for you."

"Just came back. I took a shower."

"So what happened?"

"I set up surveillance in his apartment. I didn't find anything but I'll check it over again soon."

Valerie nodded, "Okay."

Okay, in return for all the troubles she had caused, he got just a simple okay… Bruce clenched his lips. He could curse her for having to always make a mess out of everything, but at the end that was what Valerie did. And it was his job-had always been his job-to get her out of it. She walked closer to him. "Let's go to bed. You must be tired, you need to rest."

He shook his head. "Not yet. There's something else we need to do tonight."

She scowled. "I hope you don't tell me you're going out."

He turned around and walked toward the TV set. "No," he answered picking up a DVD he had acquired before he went to London. "Sit," he ordered.

Valerie lifted one eyebrow. "What's this?"

"The security images from Chill. We're going to watch your girl's night out."

"Bruce—" She shook her head slightly. "Where did you even find it?"

He raised his eyebrow. "Are you really asking me that?"

She lifted one indifferent shoulder as he put the disk on the player. "Stupid question, yeah." She sighed. "Bruce, do we really have to?"

He sat on the couch. "You mean it's that bad?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it bad—"She lifted both shoulders this time. Bruce glared.

"Sit."

With a huff, she settled on the armchair. "No, come here. Sit next to me."

"Bruce—"

"Valerie, I _won't_ argue with you. Come."

"Fine," she bit out before rising with a huff and moving to throw herself down next to him. Bruce ignored her theatrics and played the recording.

_On the screen Valerie walked towards Dylan Throne purposefully and slapped her clutch down on the bar, bracing her arms along the edge. "I'm closing this club for tonight," she said in a decisive, commanding voice._

_Dylan Thorne seemed a little dazed, before he recovered. "Excuse me?"_

_She leaned toward him. "I'm closing the place tonight."_

"_Uh," Thorne said, "You can't."_

"_Why? Isn't it about money? Charge it to Bruce."_

Bruce pivoted his body to scowl down at her. "You closed that damn thing with my money?"

"Oh, is it _your_ money now?" Valerie asked, rolling her eyes.

"You're unbelievable."

"So you keep telling me."

"_You can't buy everything with money," Thorne said, giving her a once over. Valerie let out a throaty laugh._

"_Like happiness?" she asked, "Luckily—" she rolled the word around her tongue, "happiness isn't the thing I'm planning to buy tonight."_

_Dylan Thorne gave her a speculative look but didn't comment. She huffed, took her bag from the bar. "Fine, whatever. I'll find another place to close then."_

_She turned on her heels, hips swinging sultry… "Stop," Dylan Thorne called._

_Lifting her chin up, she turned but waited where she stood as Thorne gestured at his employees. "Send everyone away. We're closed for tonight."_

_Nodding her head, she sauntered towards him. "Send them away too. I'm only in need of your service."_

Bruce's brows were lost under his hairline at the same time Throne's arched on the screen. "I'm starting to get an inkling of why you wouldn't exactly call it bad," he grunted under his breath.

"You wanted to watch it, and we're watching it, but keep the commentary to yourself."

Bruce sent her another glare but didn't respond.

_Dylan smirked, and pointed his head again towards his back, eyes fixed on her. The rest of staff dutifully left with the wordless command. Valerie put a foot on a stool's rung and waited for the bar to empty. Then she pulled herself up so she was sitting on the bar. Dylan gave her a smirk. "You do have a thing for bars, don't you?"_

_She stood up and looked down at him. "I just like to be on top."_

_Thorne smirked again, pulling the little bowls out of her way as she crossed the length. "Prepare me a drink," she ordered._

_Thorne raised his eyebrow again. "Careful. You closed the club, not me."_

_She tilted her head with a mocking smile, and wrinkled her nose with exaggeration. "Ah, of course I wasn't going to spend all that money on you."_

_Thorne smirked. "You mean I'm not worth it?"_

_She gave him a saucy smile, moving closer to the edge, closer to him. "I don't know. Are you?"_

_He shook his head, but his hands dutifully reached for a red wine bottle. She put her foot on his upper arm. "No, not wine," she ordered, "I want something else," she purred silky._

…And Bruce growled next to her, giving her the glare of all glares.

_Thorne's hand stopped on the bottle and his eyes flicked down to the black leather stiletto on his arm. He looked back up at her, eyes glinting with lust, desire, and anticipation. "What do you want then?"_

"_Something harder… something stronger." She pressed her heel into his skin, and watched as he winced. "When I taste it, it shall catch in my throat, take my breath away, put me on fire… Can you manage that?" She tilted her head, licked her bottom lip. "…preparing a drink like to my— _specifications?_"_

Dylan Thorne's face flushed and he let out a deep rough breath out, while Bruce seethed in anger… Valerie purposely kept her stare fixed on the screen, refusing to look at him.

"_No one has complained yet," Thorne muttered with darkened eyes._

_Valerie bent down to whisper languidly, "I'll decide that when I taste it."_

"_It'll be worth the wait."_

_She straightened, removing her foot from him and smirked, a little mocking, a little belittling, and lots of knowing. "Go on then, prepare it. I can't wait all night." She lowered herself to lie on the bar, and leaned on her elbow._

"You're impossible, Valerie, just impossible…" Bruce grunted.

"I might have—overacted a little bit."

"Overacted? You call this—this putting your feet on some guy and shooting innuendoes while sprawling all around the place overacting?"

"You didn't mind it all that much when I was sprawled out all over your place, shooting innuendoes at you, Bruce!" she snapped. "And I distinctly remember that my feet were all over your body too."

"That's my place! You're supposed to be sprawled all over my place, not others!"

_In the video Thorne shook his head and obeyed her command. "Daughters of Lilith," he commented, adding a few contents into a shaker, "I see why you chose Selina above us."_

"_Dylan, I have no sister," she drawled, throwing one leg before the other, and reaching for the case of green olives in front of her. "I'm one of a kind." She tossed her head back to put an olive between her lips and then sucked it in._

"_I can see that," the blonde man muttered under his breath._

_Chewing the olive, she lifted her head, and swallowed, then she sighed. "Are you always this slow? No wonder no one is complaining." She let out a very dirty laugh, leaned forward on her elbow, her face bearing mock dread. "They must be scared that you'd try __**again**__."_

Bruce saw the anger mixed with lust flooded to the blonde man's expression before he closed the recording. They remained silent for a while before Bruce started with, "Not exactly bad, I have to agree."

She bowed her head. "I've put you through worse, Bruce."

"You certainly like to challenge yourself." He climbed to his feet, and stood in front of her. "Look at me."

She lifted her head up. "I didn't sleep with him."

"I know," he agreed slowly. "I must be crazy to believe it but I know. I believe you. Really couldn't even kiss him?"

She shook her head fiercely. "No… I—Bruce, those were just words… I didn't mean any of them." Her damn eyes started to water again. "Just words… they popped out of my mouth."

He scowled, and questioned, "You got in the mood—?"

She shrugged a little. "Probably."

With a sigh, he knelt between her legs, and found her eyes again. She looked away. "No, don't turn your eyes. Look at me," he said. "I know that woman is a part of you, and frankly I like her, I like her quite a lot. But only with me," he went on, still holding her gaze. "I don't mind you flirting with other people, Valerie; in fact I find it a little bit amusing, frustrating but in a way amusing. But this is not flirting… and definitely not something I find amusing even a little."

"I don't expect you to change and put all of the scheming, lying, manipulative side of you behind. I don't expect you to change yourself just because you have feelings for me, I don't even want you to. I love you the way you are. Quite a lot. But," His expression hardened. "I won't tolerate this again. You only get the Scott free card one time, and you already used it. You think you can bear the consequences of your choices? Think about that before you do something like this next time, think _thoroughly._ Are we clear?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"No going behind my back with other people?"

One persistent tear fell from the corner of her eye, and the rest followed. She shook her head. "No."

He reached to cup her cheek. "This hurts me, Valerie, this hurts me a lot. Do you want to hurt me?"

She threw herself at him. "No, no, of course not. _Never._ I'll be the best girlfriend on earth, Bruce, you'll see."

He pushed her back. "No, you still don't understand. I don't want you to be the best girlfriend on earth. I want you to come to me when someone threatens you. I want you to be open to me, and I want you to deal with your issues maturely. I might sound like a hypocrite, but, Valerie, you need to find a balance."

She nodded. "I will."

"We won't let the problem with Selina sidetrack us from our issues. You're still a step away from another break down. You've got commitment issues, you've backpedalled. We were talking about last names…you were asking my opinion before we got involved, now you closed that book too. You've started to have nightmares again… You called someone, Valerie, one of your old friends—do you know how reckless that was? You put both of us in incredible danger just because you were mad—not just at me because I didn't take you with me, but at your feelings, because you understood me, because you forgave me. I know you're overwhelmed. You got carried away there—" He pointed the screen, "Because it came as an outlet. You couldn't bring yourself to sleep with him… even to kiss him, but what will happen when you push yourself enough? Will you try to buy an island? Find the first man on the corner? Run back to drugs?"

Valerie shot him an accusing glare and spilled the beans. "You're trying to tame me."

He let out a sigh, Selina's words turning in his mind. "Valerie, my dearest one, please, look around. If it's your being tamed, I'm doing a very poor job of it."

She shook her head. "No. You went behind my back too, with Alfred of all people." She shook her head again as her damn collaborating eyes started again. "_You_ had him threaten me with a tranquilizer if I didn't listen. How is that not taming?"

"No, Valerie, I'm sorry that all those things happened but you know it was different. Valerie, baby, I don't want to tame you."

"I don't believe you," she pressed. "You like me the most after sex, when I am subsided against your side."

"I'm a guy, Val, of course, I like you the most after sex." He moved closer to her. "Listen to me. Do you really want to know how I like you the most? I like the Valerie I saw in Bernie's. I like the girl who dragged me to the dartboard then whined when I beat her all three times. I like the girl who made the whole pub her own in five minutes, I like the girl who joked with me, who was flirting, dancing, arm-wrestling with other guys. I like the girl who wiped the board with other people then looked at me to give me a smile. I like the girl who spoke with a faintest accent in her voice unconsciously. I think she's the most beautiful thing in the world, when she looks like a cat, a big gracious well-fed, well cared for cat; sleek and content, and happy."

She looked at him then made a face a little, flicking her eyes away. "That sounded a little bit like taming to me, to tell the truth, uh—in nicer words." She paused, and leaned forward, her eyes clouded with unshed tears and uncertainty. "Did I really talk with accent?"

He nodded. "Yes. It was faint but was there." He kept the knowledge that she'd been talking with her accent when she'd had her breakdown, just like before.

"How very disturbing," Valerie said slowly.

"Don't you like that girl?"

"I do," she confessed. "I like her a lot, she's… happy. But I can't be that girl, not all the time. I just can't. I—tried…" She stood up, started to walk away. "I'm sorry."

He stopped her, catching her elbow. "Whatever your father told you…whatever truths he'd told you to make you leave _him_…they are not all there is. There is more to you." He pulled her closer. "And I want you with that more, and I'm ready to fight with all your other mad banshees to have you with that more, because I need you, because you were right. Because I was right. Because you're the only woman who can brush aside my other bat-shit crazy stuff like it's the most common thing and look behind the façade, and find what she sees still beautiful."

"Because you are," she whispered heatedly, closing in on him. There was nothing left to say, so she kissed him, and Bruce kissed her back.

* * *

_In the next part Bruce and Valerie will stop 'talking' about their relationship, and will start to take action, heh, this is Batman we're speaking of, and he's already talked a lot. It's now action time :)_

___The bit with Thomas, Derrick, and Lodi was inspired by Body of Lies, there a Jordanian spy was recruiting a mole like this, and I thought it'd work for Derrick too, because he's-you know, 'benevolent.'_

_Since last week, I've been seeing a peak in the statics(almost triple), I'm not sure why, but I'm glad that you're still with me. It'd be also awesome if you just break your vow of silence too, and let me know that you're _really_ there, reading._

_Either way, thanks for the interest._

_Later,_

_G._


	19. Emerging Circumstances - Part III

**Chapter Seventeen: Emerging Circumstances**

**Part III of III**

* * *

_Three months earlier:_

Filth and decadence, wherever she turned Talia only saw filth and decadence. Her vehicle passed the darkened New York streets smoothly as her scowl grew tighter. This city's time was coming too, fast, but her first priority lay somewhere else. Gotham.

Gotham needed to turn to dust, because it would bring pain to that man, pain, and shame, but moreover because it was her liege lord and father's last command. If it had not been for the imposter's failures, his bidding would have already been fulfilled… Economics, Talia thought, and her scowl deepened; a shameful tool from a shameful man. But more shameful still was that her father, the mighty Ras Al Ghul, had been acceded.

And they all saw how it had turned out… Whatever Sun Tzu had thought, there was no honor in victories without fighting, and the imposter had shamed them not once, but twice, with his shameful schemes. Not ever again, never again, not as long as she breathed.

Gotham was going to—needed to—feel the wrath of her and her honored ancestors. Gotham needed to turn to dust, that man needed to fall, and only then would her task be complete, her duty fulfilled.

"Mistress," Mr. Crews called for her attention from the driver's seat, while his companion mumbled nervously beside him. The pair were odd, but then again, all outlanders were odd. There was something different about them, however, an oddness that set them apart from the rest of their people. They knew of shame and honor, in their own malicious way. Thus they were more dangerous than any outlander she had ever met before and once her duty was finished, she would deal with these outlanders personally.

"Yes, Mr. Crews."

"Tomah is asking for a down payment, Mistress."

"Is he?"

"Yes, Mistress," he paused. "Will we be needing to set up a Swiss account?"

She thought about the fool for a second, her hands fisting around her leather gloves. Money was the biggest problem with these people, and on that regard, she was quickly turning into an outlander. "No." She pulled the ski mask over her face. "We will pay him in cash." The car stopped a few blocks away from the residence of her target in the Upper East Side and she opened the door. "And make sure he keeps the money in the house, gentlemen. I want my money back, and I want it back down to the last penny."

Surviving in exile was hard, even harder when you had an objective, and she had one, one that required lots of money, lots, and lots of it, and she was going to attain it, no matter what.

She walked down the alley, and by the time she reached the corner, she was already blended into the shadows. No matter who she had become, there was one truth that would never change about her; she was,—had been, and would forever be—one of the League of Shadows.

When her target was found strangled to death in his bed the following morning Talia was already gone from New York.

_She fisted her hands under the table, grit her teeth, and glared at the outlander across from her to the left of her liege lord and father. His voice was soft as he addressed her lord, like the precious summer breezes in the mountains, silkier than strands woven to make her robes. His demeanor, the way he talked, he carried himself as a warrior from the glorious days. Her hands clenched tighter. No matter how mighty a warrior the outlander had become, no matter how worthy he was of her father's trust, he still had no right to sit beside their lord like he was one of them. _

_Could it be that her father was starting to see him as the only thing she would never ever be to him—a son. It was not fair, it was not right, he had no right, and what he suggested—with no shame, no consideration—what he suggested, and what her lord was listening to… Her nails drew blood from her palms but despite the sting she only held harder._

"_Times are changing, we should change the tactics—" The High Commanders, the men who swore to serve Justice with their swords and honor nodded along with him as her father assessed what the outlander proposed, and she could not help it anymore, could not watch it in silence, could not keep the words back while all the things she believed, all the things she had ever believed since she had known herself tumbled down from the foundations._

_She stood as the outlander lapsed into silence. "Mighty warriors of the League of Shadows!" She cried and fixed her glare on him across the table. "We should not shame ourselves with this outlander's filth!"_

"_Talia," her father said from at the other side of the head of the table, his words sounding almost in exasperation, exasperation! "You will sit down now, good daughter."_

_She didn't, she could not. "My lord, will we shame ourselves not looking at the eyes of our enemy while they meet with their reckoning? Will the sound of steel not be echoed in the air as the long overdue judgment rains on the deserved?" She paused a second, lowering her voice, unshed tears moisturizing her eyes. "Or will we fight like cowards? Will we hit our enemy at their backs?" Her eyes flicked toward the man, hatred and anger lit them up. "Economics!"_

_He bowed his head, and slowly said, "Khrimseshi—"_

"_Silence!" she cut him off. "I withdraw all permission. You are not allowed to address me anymore." She sent him another blazing glare. "You will not defile me with your filth, outlander!"_

"_TALIA!" Her father bellowed, standing. "You will stop this now, and ask for forgiveness then you will attend to the Truthspeaker."_

_She looked at her father, and finally let the tears fall. She had known, from the first time she set her eyes on the outlander, she had known that it would come to this, yet she could not stop her trembling hands or the tears running over her cheeks. "No," she said, voice faltering._

"_Good daughter," her lord father warned, "I have spoken."_

_When she spoke, her eyes moved to the man who had brought this fate upon her, had brought this madness into her home, into her life, into her—heart. Her arm slowly moved toward her hip. _

_He stood up. "Talia," he called her, "No, Talia—__**NO!**__"_

_She held the hilt of her sword... "Only a fool obeys an order when the order brings nothing but undeserved shame."_

"_Talia, don't," the outlander implored, but her father was silent, and she understood that he had known it too, from the start, he had known that they would come to this point._

_She pulled her sword free._

* * *

"You want me to what?"

"We can't just talk about our issues indefinitely then sit on our asses expecting things to return to normal, Valerie. We need to have a strategy, a sort of plan, and my first one was actually a good one, until you and Selina messed it up."

She puckered her mouth, digging her spoon into her frozen yogurt. "Yeah, that could have worked… But this—?"

"You need to have friends, real ones—"

"But Leslie Thompkins?" she exclaimed, "Bruce, what would I do with her?"

"Anything you want," Bruce said causally. "Think about it. You can do, talk about anything you want with her. She knows about you."

She huffed. "What _could_ I possibly want to talk about with Leslie Thompkins?"

"Enough with the whining, Valerie. You'll have lunch with her, then you will go do stuff; go shopping, go to the hair dresser…I don't know…do whatever you want. She's agreed to leave it to you. Besides she knows quite a number of decent people, she may introduce them to you."

She sighed. "You sound like a mother trying to fix her child up with a play buddy."

Bruce looked at her then slid the two cards toward her. She looked down at them. "Bruce—"

"No, listen to me," he interrupted. "They're not real ones; just something to give you some liberty. You're wandering around without an ID, driving constantly without a license. You have to keep something on you. What if you get pulled over?"

She sniffed. "Like any officer could actually manage to catch me."

"Valerie—" He warned, then closed his eyes for a second. "This isn't definitive. I'm not pushing you. I took the liberty of using West because I know you like it but that's it. The rest will wait until you feel ready again. I won't push you, but you have to accept these now."

She took the cards. "Fine," she hit their edges on the table, "fine, I'm taking them. I'll meet with the doctor too. But I have a condition."

"Yes."

"If I'm getting a _life_—so to speak," she said seriously, "you will get one too. You'll start seeing people, decent people, you, not Brucie Wayne, _you_."

"Valerie—"

"No," she cut him off. "No, it works both ways, Bruce. I'm getting a life, so you are. Or else I won't do it. I swear I won't."

"Okay, fine," he replied, "Deal."

* * *

Eyes fluttering half closed, she tossed her head while his lips brushed along her jaw, and her hands trailed over his arms in a half embrace. She angled her head up to whisper, "Bruce…darling…enough… want you…now."

His lips slid to her neck, as his hand reached out to the bed stand and took something out of the drawer. "What are you doing?" she asked languidly.

"Condoms," he muttered.

"What? We don't ne—"

"Too intense…" he answered as his hand moved to put it on. "Baby, let's try it, 'kay?"

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck, and lifting herself against his chest. She rested her forehead on his shoulder. "You really sat and thought about this, didn't you? Planned it…"

"You don't?" he asked as he braced her arching body and slowly pushed himself in.

She threw her head back, and let out a moan, "ye—ahhh…"

"Good…?"

"Feel…weird," she muttered, "So stupid…never fucked anyone without one for years…until you…"

"Valerie stop…stop talking…forget about it." He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. "Baby, concentrate on my fingers." He slowly caressed her skin. "Concentrate on me… Close your eyes."

Moaning she shook her head. "Don't want to…wanna see you…" He uncoiled his other arm and gently grabbed the back of her neck pressing her head into the hollow of his neck. He held her between his arms as he accelerated his movements. She groaned, meeting with each thrust, moving along his skin… "Bruce…Bruce…" She broke their tangled hands, lifted her head up and braced her hands on his chest. "Bruce…take it off, I don't want it…"

"Baby—don't think about-"

"No—no—" She shook her head, pushing herself back a little. "Take it off…"

"Val—"

"No! I don't want it…can't stand it… Nothing between us…" She hid her face on his chest. "Bruce… Don't make me beg… take it off."

He parted their bodies swiftly, and took the elastic skin off of him. "Okay, baby, it's okay," he whispered against her ear. "It's gone— "He pushed inside again as she groaned appreciatively, tightening her arms, "only you and me."

"Only you and me…" she slurred back, sighing deeply.

* * *

As the mixer combined his fresh vegetables, Valerie stared at the machine without seeing as her mind contemplated the night before. Another good plan shot to hell—failing once again in a spectacular way.

Sweet Jesus, what was she going to do, _what_ was she going to do? Bruce was right. She needed to get a grip on herself before she snapped again. Doing ordinary things to find a semi-balance was a good idea, but only in theory; when it came to practice, like everything else concerning Bruce Wayne it was failing—spectacularly.

When she returned to bedroom, the vitamin drink in her hands, Bruce was in the middle of changing into his suit, and seeing him a soothing calm swept over her. It was ridiculous, feeling peace just with a glance. She put down the glass on the counter as he turned to give her half a smile. She hugged him from behind, her arms wrapping around his waist rested her head against his back. Either she was really in love, only it didn't exist, or she had finally gone wacko… totally insane.

His hand reached back, and caressed hers, then he twirled her around. She smiled softly as Bruce pulled her into his arms. "Valerie, last night—"

She felt the blood rushing up to her cheeks—blushing—her, the hell bent, histrionic, attention freak, blushing, god help her, blushing like a nubile… She rested her forehead on his chest, and cut him off, "—was amazing, just amazing."

Valerie heard his sigh and felt his hands moving up over her back. He lifted her head up, holding it gently on either side. "Did you call Leslie?"

"Do I really need to?"

"Yes, baby, you really need to. Call her after lunch and fix a date."

She sighed and nodded. "Okay." They fell into a brief but disturbing silence and it stretched out as Valerie thought about what to say and Bruce looked at her. She had to try. She couldn't give up. Even if it meant failure in the end, she had to keep fighting. So looking in his eyes, she readied herself for a second round. "I have another date this afternoon too—with Georgina."

It was admirable, really, really admirable how fast his face closed, how that goofy, affectionate expression transformed into a scowl. "I was hoping you wouldn't even bother to ask about it."

"Why?"

"Why? Valerie, are you really asking me _why_?"

She grimaced and pushed herself back. Like hell he didn't want to tame her. "The same old story: he buys her things, fucks her nicely, and wants to make sure she always behaves properly."

"And she says she'll be the best girlfriend on earth," he countered.

"And he says he doesn't want her to be."

"Valerie, god's sakes, _that_ was what you took from what I said?"

"You were very precise."

He ran his hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. "You have to stop playing games. There isn't anything to achieve from this, Valerie—you won't learn anything that we already don't know."

"We don't know that for sure. I can dig a little further."

"You don't need to."

"It's just a lunch, Bruce, just a lunch."

"It's pointless. Tomorrow night I'll tail Tavian to get his finger prints. Stay out this one, and I'll take you too."

Her eyes narrowed. "Will you?"

"Yes. He's attending a party tomorrow night, and we can go as a couple. I want to look around."

She gave him a smirk. "You really want me under your control, Bruce, don't you? She can't go to lunches on her own, but he can take her to spy on the old warmongers to make sure if she's to misbehave, she does within arm's reach."

"And she likes to whine about playing her silly games but when he offers a good sensible solution that will get some real results, she mocks him—" He shook his head, closing in on her. "Valerie, what am I going to do with you?"

She moved closer, and smirked wider. "If you want to be on top, Bruce, you'd better have a good answer for that question."

"We're standing up, Valerie."

She caught his untied tie and threw herself back, yanking him down with her. "Now we're not."

* * *

The Stella McCartney dress was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. Elegant, graceful, with a certain style, half transparent and half lace, and damn sexy, Bruce was going to love it, _a lot_, she thought, from a chair in her favorite teashop.

A waiter came hastily towards her and she smiled at him automatically, placing her package on the seat next to her. "Can I have an Earl Grey? And a plate of those delicious cookies—with the berries and nuts."

"Milk?" waiter asked.

"No, thanks, I like the aroma not softened."

She didn't want anything soft in her life at the moment. Last night she had shown Bruce Wayne just how fast she could drive, and tonight he was going to see what that really meant. Her fingers grazed the bruise on her neck and her thoughts drifted towards the other marks he'd left.

Regardless of his reservations, if his release was anything to go by or the way he'd pounded her to the end of the world last night, he'd liked her going ape shit crazy on him. Fuck it, if even the damn condoms weren't working, she wasn't going to stop until they broke the bed. She might not even stop after that. Let's see how far Batman could dive in.

_Get a grip, get a grip on yourself, Valerie…_

Then she noticed what she had called herself. Giving an irritated sigh, she bowed her head, and glanced at her wrist, where her bracelet with its tracking device dangled. God, she was really collared for good, wandering with a tracking device, with no intention of removing it, and she didn't even know why.

She didn't care—at least she mustn't have cared the fact that Bruce could pinpoint her location precisely whenever he wanted, nor did she mind him knowing what she was up to. It was even a little bit relief that he could know where she was in case of any emergency. In fact, she was depending on it given that she had pushed herself off the grid once again. Jesus, how did that happen… how—when had she come to depend on anyone other than herself for her safety? She had found the idea of being taken care nice, she liked him seeing fussing about her—the way he made sure that she took her pills, brought her sandwiches, made sure she was sleeping like a baby, but this was different. It was about survival, _her_ survival, and she couldn't take—

A hand briefly touched her left shoulder and her troubled thoughts came to a halt. She lifted her head up, and saw Selina smiling at her.

And just the thing she needed… Scowling at her, she shook the hand off of her shoulder. "What do you want Selina?"

Without waiting for an invitation, Selina settled herself on the opposite chair. "I'll have a chai latte, thank you very much."

"I'm not going to treat you to anything," she spat.

"Valerie, you wound me. Is this the way to greet the business partners?"

"You'll survive," she said casting a quick look around, and noticed Selina's smirk.

"Why, did he put guard dogs on you now? Or is it owls? Dogs wouldn't be his preference, I guess."

Valerie glared at her. "What do you want, Selina? I did what you wanted, it's finished now."

"Finished?" Selina shook her head. "You did want I wanted?" she repeated. "Valerie, I said this was between you and me, and you've unleashed a protective guard dog on my affairs."

"Me unleashed him on you? Selina," she exclaimed, "Give me a break! _You_ unleashed Thomas on me. If you didn't tell him about me, you wouldn't have had Bruce pounding your door."

"Valerie, no, really, love surely has diminished your wit," Selina commented shaking her head. "You did't believe that Thomas wouldn't learn your part in it, did you? Even Dylan isn't that stupid. Thomas would have told him about me, then Dylan would have told him about you. I just cut to the chase."

"You threw me in the lion's den, Selina."

Selina shrugged. "Frankly, dearie, I thought you would have lasted a little longer. I didn't expect you spill the beans that quick. So you might understand why it was so surprising to see Bruce on my doorstep—" Her gaze hardened, and a tight line appeared on the corner of her mouth "—making threats."

Ahh… she thought then shrugged it off. There wasn't anything to say about that. Bruce had gone to talk with Selina right after he had learned what had happened, and she had no reason to believe he was particularly nice about it. She had tried to get him to talk about it but every time she was told more or less to 'back off'— and not always in such nice words too.

Unconsciously her eyes drifted, and scowling, she noticed Selina smirk again. "Goodness, he's really shaken you up nicely."

"Selina," she hissed, "Why are you here? Cut the bullshit and come to the point. What do you want?"

"Don't worry," she answered softly with an empathic smile that made Valerie want to tear it off her face. "I don't want anything from you anymore. That's _why_ I came—to let you know that you're off the hook."

She narrowed her eyes. "Am I?"

"Yes. There are some other things that demand my upmost interest. You've lost my interest," she paused to give her a half of smirk. "Good for you."

Valerie drew in a breath, closed her eyes for a moment and reopening them, she leaned forward. "Selina," Valerie started acutely. "Don't. I'm—we're not playing a game."

"You are not? Because I have to say it really looks like you are. Look at you!" She shook her head. "Checking around, fidgeting all the time—"She wasn't, she surely wasn't fidgeting. Selina cocked her head. "Are you even allowed to talk to me now? What would happen if he catches you sitting with me? Throw you over his shoulder, and carry you to his castle? Lock you up in his bedchamber and throw away the key? Or perhaps he'd just bend you over his knee and give you a good spanking. Perhaps you'd even beg for it."

Her hands fisted under table and she bit her inner cheek—she didn't exactly know why but her eyes stung and the urge to lash out was almost unbearable, and that must be how it felt like wanting to cry out of anger. Normally she would break things, get herself wasted or high and find the first available fuck. And that must be what those twelve-steps-programs would call progress. She was making such fucking good _progress_. "You know nothing about me," she seethed at last.

Selina snorted. "That's because everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie. You live in a lie, Valerie, but I guess it's not the first time." She stood up. "Tell him not to worry anymore. You're off the hook."

She stood up too, and closed in on her. "Selina, take this as my fair warning, _don't._ I gave you what you wanted, and Thomas surely will give you what you want too. We're squared, let's forget about it."

Selina looked at her in seriousness. "I said this was about you and me, and you expanded it. Tell me, Valerie, why should I stop now when you didn't?"

* * *

The graceful Stella McCartney was great but ultimately she decided on something less—subtle. Bruce's eyes remained on the lace tops of the thigh-high stockings as she descended, since the tight black leather dress's hem did almost nothing to cover them. She posed for him on the lowest step. "Like my new purchase?"

A frown of disapproval slowly formed. "It's—nice."

She threw him the most superficial smile she could muster as she moved closer, and whispered huskily in his ear. "Then you shall see how nice it is underneath."

"What's underneath?"

"Nothing," she said, and Bruce's eyes widened. He quickly recovered though, and reached out to check. Laughing Valerie leaped away from his hand. "Darling—can't you wait? Bruce—" She laughed again as he made another attempt, and then squirmed playfully as his fingers ran over her bare flesh. "I'm flattered, really I am, but we've got work to do first."

"Valerie, you're not going to a nightclub without underwear, wearing this—" his hand waved over the dress, "thing."

"Oh," she arched one eyebrow in mock seriousness, "I'm not?"

His jaw clenched and he sent her a sharp look. Valerie closed in on him, and rested her elbow on his shoulder causally. "Okay darling, let's make a deal." She smiled at him. "I'll be a good girl and will dress as you want me to, and in return you'll tell me what you talked about with Selina."

"Valerie," he pushed her elbow roughly, "How many times do I need to tell you. Stop offering me ridiculous things trying to get a deal out of them."

"Not good enough? Hmm…I might consider leaving stockings at home too," she bargained further.

"Valerie, for goodness sake, aren't you tired of playing yet?"

"Don't call this a play, Bruce. I'm talking about reality here; hard, cold, _naked_ reality."

He just glared. "If you be good boy now, you'd even see the Smurfs in the end. It's been awhile since we set up our pole, darling."

"Keep this up, and I go alone."

She gave up a careless shrug. "Fine, you go alone. I'll find myself another party to crash."

"You won't," he simply answered.

Momentarily she narrowed her eyes then she relaxed again, leaned back, and smiled. "Now won't I?"

"Valerie, if this is about con—"

She cut him off. "No."

"Then I don't know why you've gone back to your charming banshee state but it's not going to change anything."

She stayed silent. Bruce sighed and ruffled his hair with his hand. "Valerie, please. I need you tonight. Please, be reasonable."

"I don't want to be reasonable." She crossed her arms under her chest. "When I'm reasonable, I always lose."

"Baby, we don't play, there is no winning or losing."

Her foot poked the stair's edge. "You say that because you always win," she said petulantly, her head bowed.

"No, I don't always win. I'm quite powerless when it comes to you."

"No, you are not." She lifted her head and shot him an accusing glare. "You didn't even have the decency to masturbate while thinking of me."

"Not even the decency—" he repeated, his voice low. "Valerie, what are you—"

She cut him off again. "You slept like a log while I thrashed around all hot and bothered because of you!"

"Slept like a log?" He shook his head. "How did you come up with that?"

"You said you didn't mas—"

"The fact that I didn't do it doesn't mean I slept like a log. Jesus, Valerie, why can't you listen anything I say? I told you I came to a point that I was doing nothing but thinking of you all the time." He moved closer. "Do you know how many nights I didn't get even one moment of respite because of all your—" he wiggled his hand at her, "—all your sexual things. How do you think I was thinking of you? I already told you, I'm not made of stone. I dreamt of you every night."

"You did?"

"Every night."

She whispered suspiciously, "Were we having sex?"

"You have no idea how much I thought about you squirming under me."

She beamed. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Naked?"

"Most certainly."

"Oh."

"Not always though."

Her voice fell. "Oh."

"I used to dream about Rachel every night. When I returned home, and crashed down on the bed, I dreamt of her until the first light of the dawn, the same dream every single night. We were lying next to each other on my bed, and I was watching her, then one night her face suddenly shifted to yours. Soon after, it was only you."

She gulped through a lump in her throat. "When did you start to have these dreams?"

"After your first night in the cave… I was dreaming about you when you broke the mirror."

Her face fell. "You were dreaming of _her_ then."

"I don't know. I don't remember. I only remember you. I only remember my Valerie, my beautiful, dearest Valerie—" He moved closer, brushed his fingertips over her cheek. "—who has conquered every aspect of my life, even my dreams."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes, needing to clear her faltering voice before she could start speaking again. "When—when was the first it was only me?"

"The night you slept in my arms the first time: when you asked for my company because you didn't want to be alone."

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be alone, but that wasn't why I asked you to stay. I asked you to stay because I didn't want anyone else's company. You bring me peace."

He climbed on her step, pulled her into his arms and rested his forehead on her shoulder. He kissed her neck affectionately. "And you bring me hope and everything else."

She sighed, rested her forehead on his shoulder too. Motionless, she stayed in his embrace for a while, then murmured against his jacket with a weary laugh. "You're still manipulating me—with your lovey-dovey-sexy things."

"Only with truth, Valerie, only with nicer ones."

"So devious…"she muttered.

"No one could have handled you," he whispered into her ear heatedly.

She giggled with short breaths as he sucked her pulse. "Idiot…stone headed idiot…" She muttered moaning. He nibbled just the spot under her ear. She moaned louder, trembling. "Bruce, you're gonna fuck me now, right?"

"Not yet, we still need to go to the party first."

She pried off out of his embrace. "Says the man who just said he wasn't used to get a moment of respite dreaming about me squirming under him."

"Val—"

She hit the back of her hand on his stomach with fast moves. "Come on, let's go." She took one step down. "It's been ages since I hit on an old sugar daddy anyway."

He caught her at the elbow. "No hitting on anyone, I mean it, Valerie. No hitting on anyone, both ways. You're going to behave."

She turned back. "Not making any promises." She took another step forward but this time he caught her waist. He pulled her back and settled her down on the step. "You're not going without wearing anything underneath either."

She wrinkled her nose, and turned her chin away from him. "Wait here till I get you one."

"If it's not transparent, and a G-string, I'm not wearing it," she called after him.

Half a minute later he returned, with the one she'd demanded. He crouched between her legs and she smirked. When he started to loop the garment over her feet she yanked it out of his hands and stood up.

"I'll be damned if I'll have any boyfriend put panties on me before fucking me first."

He gave her a tense smile, which she returned with a big one, then dusted off her dress and tugged her elbow through his arm. "Now, Mr. Wayne, let's go and rock that party."

Inside the car, she tried her chances for the last time. "Bruce, what did you talk about with her?"

"Forget about her. She won't bother you again, won't bother us again."

She swallowed a derisive laugh at the last second. Bruce, as smart as he was, hadn't any inkling about Selina Kyle. And she found that fact quite endearing; she was still the only lunatic he could see right through. She jumped to his left side to squeeze herself between him, the door and the seat.

"Valerie—" he protested as pushing her off of himself to see the windshield.

She smiled, resting her head on his chest, her leg lying across his lap. "You have to be careful, Bruce, she's not—she's dangerous."

"Don't worry about her. Don't worry about anything, baby. I'll take care of everything. You have me now."

Her lips found his skin before she whispered, "And you have me."

* * *

Mr. Crews looked at the drawings on the table, playing with his lips thoughtfully, then quoted softly; "_Likewise as it was in the days of Lot—they ate, they drank, they bought, they sold, they planted, they built, but on the day when Lot went out from Sodom, fire and sulfur rained from heaven and destroyed them all._"

Mr. Walden turned to him surprised. "New Testament?"

Mr. Crews nodded. "The second coming of Judas. Prophecies are coming around. And somehow this," his hand flickered over the drawing, toward where _Skyfall_ was carved as a bleak prophecy waiting to be fulfilled, "has reminded me of Sodom and Gomorrah."

Mr. Walden scowled. "This machinery is supposed to transmit electromagnetic waves into the Ionosphere that should cause major catastrophic events similar to earthquakes. There will be no rain of fire and sulfur from heaven."

"I was thinking metaphorically, my fine friend, once again," he said, a little sigh escaping from of his lips, "along with the lines that cities have to face with the wrath of God for they have sinned."

"I don't presume the Mistress believes in God, Mr. Crews."

"No, but she does very well believe in his Wrath, Mr. Walden."

"Metaphorically?" Mr. Walden then asked.

Mr. Crews nodded with a smile. "Why, you're becoming so much better at this, Mr. Walden. All right then, let's call her. She must be waiting for our return. And you know how she gets while she's waiting for something."

* * *

Watching Gotham's nightscape from her window, Selina slowly quoted;

_Look at all these people sparkling, like the fireflies they need darkness to be seen  
Look at those who turn against their own dreams  
in the emerging circumstances we live  
surrounded by the walls that are built on already dead bodies_

"You wrote this?" Holly asked with a faint frown.

Selina smiled gently. "Emerging circumstances—somehow this," her hand flicked in the air to indicate the costume lying on the bed. "has made me remember it."

It was how Holly remembered it; dark, enthralling, and appealing, an insentient siren weaved with darkness and everything else it stood for, its wordless calling was as enticing as its namesake. Selina laid next to it on the bed, as enticing as her costume, one leg twisting over the other. Her hand held the delicate lacework mask over her face. "Holly," she remarked slowly, "do you know that everything looks so different when you look through a mask."

Holly didn't, but she could understand. Almost. "Ears," Selina then said, lowering the mask down.

"Ears?"

"Yes. I need cat ears, Holly."

She wasn't an idiot, even though sometimes she acted like one. She'd learned sometimes it was best to be considered as an idiot, turning a blind eye on things, perhaps not good for human curiosity but better for its wellbeing. They never talked about the circumstances of the night they had met, but it didn't mean they were unaware of it. Holly knew it and Selina knew she knew but still they didn't talk about it. Holly didn't believe they needed to. So instead she asked, "Cats?"

"Someone made a suggestion that was quite entertaining and I decided to go along with it." She paused for a second, raised her empty hand in front of her face. "And since we're on the business we should get my nails done too. Who knows, I might end up needing some claws to scratch with."

Holly nodded. "So you're going out again?"

"Soon, dearie, soon." Her hand lowered, and her fingertips ran over the leather. "Someone was foolish enough to tell me if I didn't heed his words, he'd forget who I am. Poor demented soul, I think we should give him a reminder."

* * *

Eyes hidden behind clubber sunglasses, and hair covered by a knitting cap, Bruce decided he looked ridiculous and beyond his reflection there was another much more enjoyable scene to look at, so his eyes flicked that way.

One elbow propped on the bar, Valerie took slow sips from her beverage, swaying on her legs leisurely while she watched Tavian closely. Leather looked really good on her, he thought seizing her up again, that damn dress hugged her figure perfectly. Thanks to her newest _fan-video_, the image of her writhing beneath him on top of the bar, her feet adorned in those stilettoes suddenly appeared in his mind... Annoyed he pushed it away, and shifted his legs to ease his half hard bulge.

Tavian stood up from his lounge and started walking in the direction of the toilets. Valerie looked at him, and he gave her a small nod. She turned on her heels and followed Tavian, and Bruce followed her. Just before Tavian walked into men's restroom, Valerie bumped into him and poured her drink down his back.

Tavian turned back, caught her elbow as she swayed on her legs. Behind the corner, Bruce angled his body to see their profiles, maintaining his distance but still close enough to hear them.

Valerie looked at the old warmonger with widened eyes still trying to fix her balance. "Oh, god! 'm soooo s'rry—" She moved closer, and her right hand moved towards his jacket. "Oh, geez, look at wh't I've dun."

Tavian took a step back, cleaning his jacket with his hands. "It's okay, just be careful next time."

"Yeah, sur'," she slurred and started moving towards the women's when Tavian walked into restroom. As soon as he disappeared, she stopped and waited for him to come, leaning on the wall, her hands behind her back. Bruce walked to her, his hand slipped between the wall and her back to take the cell phone that her hands held. "He didn't make a pass at me," she remarked scowling. "I'm getting old."

The phone got lost behind his back. "Nope, he didn't make a pass at you because he knew you're way out of his league." She smiled wide at him before went in the restroom too.

Bruce went to the last stall on the line. Inside he opened the cell phone and placed the bug in the phone. When he exited out of the stall, Tavian had already taken off of his jacket, and was cleaning it at the washbasin's counter. Perfect. He mimicked fishing a pill out of his pocket, and adding a swing to his pace, walked closer. He stood next to him, threw the imaginary pill at his mouth, and took a sip from the tap. Tavian glanced at him. Bruce shook his head, shaking his shoulders agitatedly. "Brrr…this shit hits like a truck—" Tavian gave him a disgusted look. Bruce moved even closer, bumping the old man's jacket. His left hand slipped towards its pocket. "Man, what happened to you?"

Tavian gave him a final look, before pulling the jacket off of the counter, and walking out.

As the old man's back got lost behind the door, Bruce followed him out. Truthfully, this little bit of espionage wasn't something that required Valerie's skills, even _he_ didn't need to be here; Batman could always pay Tavian a visit, but Valerie needed this, these little plays to keep her—entertained, and what Valerie needed Bruce was always going to give.

* * *

_This machinery thing Talia is trying to build is based on H.A.A.R.P conspiracies, and of course, the name for it came to me after I saw Skyfall last summer :) Isn't it fitting? ;)_

_Stay well,_

_G._


	20. New Friends

**Chapter Eighteen: New Friends**

* * *

"So she called," Lucius said, arching one eyebrow.

One week ago, when the boy had called her, Leslie had been surprised. Bruce Wayne was one of the most difficult patients she had ever had, one of those pig headed men who never listened anything anybody said, regardless of who said it, and no matter how reasonable it was. So it had been a little bit surprising to find him calling her.

After they finished talking, the stupefaction she had felt before was nothing next to the wonderment she felt afterward. She set the cup in front of her, and looked at Lucius. "So she called," he repeated, studying her over his cup.

"So she did."

"Bruce said she was going to, but truthfully I didn't expect her to."

"Truthfully? I didn't either." Leslie paused then smiled a little. "You should've heard her, Lucius. She made it seem as if I was the one asking her out and acted like it was all her idea from the start but I'm sure Bruce was there the whole time, nudging her."

"Surely," Lucius agreed, taking a slow sip from his coffee. "Thank God, he knows how to deal with her."

"Does he?" she asked suspiciously. "Alfred says differently."

"Well, I heard there were some episodes, but you see, in the end, she called."

"Frankly, I still don't understand how any man would dare to take the responsibility for her—"

"He dared to take her responsibility long ago, Leslie." He frowned a little at the cup in his hands. "Whatever he says Alfred also thinks they're cut for each other."

"Are they?"

"Well, she seems to be his crusade for daylight."

"Ah…The Taming of the Shrew…" The words came out of her lips punctuated with a sigh, "The boy reads way too much Shakespeare."

Lucius put his cup on the table, and gave her a serious look. "Never say—no, don't even make hint along these lines to her, Leslie. Not if you care for your life."

* * *

With fast hands, Bruce adjusted the switches in front of her, and warned her for the last time. "This is just an act, Valerie. You'll learn what he uncovered, pay him to soothe his feathers, and that's it."

"Yes," she answered.

"There will be no episodes of threatening Selina with it."

Look who's talking, she thought before nodding. "I mean it, Valerie. I want her out of our life."

Truthfully, there was nothing she wanted more at the moment. "I want her out too, Bruce." Bruce gave her a skeptical look but didn't press further. She wanted Selina out of their life; more importantly she wanted Selina out of _Bruce's life_.

"Did you decide what to do with Leslie tomorrow?"

Damn, man, never forgot anything! She shrugged. "I don't know, after lunch I might take her to Jackie's to get her feet eaten. There is even a special Saturday discount."

Bruce gave her a look. "And Georgina, by any chance, would be there?"

She glowered at him. "If I'd started to scheme behind your back again, Bruce, do you really think I'd tell you?"

He held her gaze defiantly. "You might, if you wanted to play the innocent card later."

She threw a folder she found on the counter at him. "You're just mean, and devious and—"

"Like you didn't think about it—"

She huffed, shrugged, and Bruce switching the last control, nodded to her. "Okay, dial."

She reached for the phone, and made the call. Jeremy picked up on the second ring with a long drawled, "Hulloooo."

"Hi there," she answered, rolling the letters around her tongue to get Felicia's Irish accent. "Miss me?"

Jeremy replied with his trademark laziness, "I always miss you, sexy. Do you know how hard it is finding a pretty ass willing to participate in group bonding activities these days?" Bruce scowled, sending her another glare, which she shrugged off. "Come back, dove," Jeremy implored exaggeratedly, "I miss hitting on guys with you."

She laughed. "Well, I always said you were going to miss this ass when I was gone, but you never believed me."

Jeremy laughed in return before asking nonchalantly, "So how's the rocking parties these days, Fi—" He paused as Valerie's gaze flicked over to Bruce who was scowling mightily at the work station in front of him. "Any duellos for your filthy love?"

"Not yet," she answered, "But I got a proposal."

"Another one?" He laughed. "Poor guy. What did you do to him this time?"

"Took what I wanted, and kicked him out; he sucked in bed."

"And since when is that a bad thing, silly?"

"You know me, prefer to be pounded to the end of the world," she shot back and jumped as Bruce pinched her hip.

"Nuthin'," Jeremy brushed the comment off. "Come back to London, and my new friend will drill us into another galaxy."

Bruce's eyes looked like he was going to drill into her face. "Thrilled to know, you know I admire your friends."

"You admire my taste," he shot back, paused for a second, and his voice dropped the lazy drawl, "But you seem to have made some new friends with interesting gadgets…" he trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

She forced herself to let out an airy laugh, as danger bells went off in her mind. "You're not going to make yourself easy for me, are you, Jeremy?"

"Hah, look who's talking about being _easy_."

"So you tried to track me?"

"Well, you were playing hard to get," he paused again, "and I thought you all forgot about me."

"Jeremy," Valerie forced her voice into emphatic tone, "when have I ever _forgot_ you? Didn't I always make you happy? What do you have for me?"

"What do _you_ have for me?"

"Oh, you'll love it, darling."

"How much?"

"A lot."

"A new player, not exactly new to the business, but new in the game; switched sides, can't say exactly why…you know, I never understand those types—"

"Heteroes?" she asked innocently.

"And Scottish," he exclaimed, "I can't understand what those Jocks say to save my life."

"A name, please, Jeremy,"

"An amount, please, Fi."

"Five,"

"Ten,"

"Six,"

"Ten,"

"Six and half,"

"Are we _really_ going to do this?"

"You know me, can't say no to a good bargain."

"And you know me, none have ever smart-mouthed me yet. I can go all night."

"And I can come back all night," she took a half of breath before continued with the fast talking, "but there is a party that I need to rock tonight. So, eight, and it's final."

"Deal."

"Name, please."

"Chuck Hollis, a former Art Loss Register investigator. Give me an address and I'll send you all the bits I recovered together with my bank details. He's smuggled the merchandise to London successfully, and is now testing the waters. Do you want me to set up a meeting?"

"No, just information will be fine for now." She gave him the secure email address Bruce had set up, and dropped her voice. "Thank you darling, once again, it was a pleasure."

"The pleasure was all mine, and don't be a stranger," he said, "I really miss that nicely shaped ass of yours."

"Now, seriously, who wouldn't?" she said before hanging up, and turned to Bruce. "Well, it went well."

"Mostly professional my ass," Bruce remarked with a glare. She lifted both shoulders up. "Valerie, I'm not going to find anyone from your old acquaintances that you didn't sleep with, am I?"

She threw her legs on his lap, slumping back on her chair, and titled her head to side in a pose of deep concentration. "There was one," she said, "Though, I'm not exactly sure if he can be counted." Her finger tapped on her lower lip. "You see…he was…"

"Asexual?"

She gave him a mocking smile. "Still yet to be a problem for me," she paused. "I told you that, you don't listen to me either."

She got another glower in response. "An eunuch," she declared.

"What?"

"Yeah, he got in deep with sharks, and they cut off…" She made a scissor pantomime with a dreadful smile. "People used to call him 'littlefinger' but I wouldn't know why."

"Sure you wouldn't," he shot back. "Sometimes I wonder what kind of company you used to keep."

She moved to him, and sat on his lap. When she answered the rhetorical question, her voice was serious. "Some were nice, some were bad, and some were really hideous—" She puckered her face, "Nevertheless they were nothing like you, Bruce, nothing like you." The back of her hand gently caressed his cheek.

Sometimes she really wondered how her life would have turned out if she had met him in her younger days. If it hadn't been Michael but Bruce she had bumped in that god-forsaken back alley in Egypt or had in a filthy room in some dingy hotel. The prospects didn't seem optimistic, but still she wondered. She couldn't help it. Looking in his eyes, she leaned further. "Jeremy claims his new friend would drill me to another galaxy. Can you raise the stakes?"

He lifted her up and threw her on the work station, hands already working on her jean buttons. "Nuthin, I'll wormhole you into another reality, baby."

And he did, he took her to another reality, a reality consisting of just Bruce and Valerie.

* * *

Selina knew the call was going to come at some point, Hollis wasn't one to make favors for gratis. She had expected it, but nonetheless she wouldn't have guessed it would be this early. "Hollis, be reasonable. I can't—"

"You've compromised me, Selina," he fumed in at the other side. "Just a couple of days ago I tangled myself yet again in your business, and people started asking about me." The angry words turned to an accusing hiss. "You've compromised my business!"

"I didn't compromise your anything, Hollis," she hissed. "We had an agreement."

"And I'm calling it off," he shot back, "Now, Selina, now, not another moment longer. I need money back now. My reputation is in danger. I need to prove my worth, thanks to you."

"Hollis," Selina started but he cut her off.

"Now, Selina, or else all our deals are off." The line was a silent for a second, and when he spoke next, his voice held a sort of reluctance. "You're a good partner, Selina, a very good one, but I didn't come this far—"

She decided she was bored with this conversation. "You'll get your money back," she spat and hung up.

She paced through her living room. Money…money had started to be a constant problem, something she had never had to deal with before.

She stared at far wall. She needed money, and she still needed Hollis. Without him, she was all by herself. She couldn't give up Hollis, not yet. Not yet. She still needed him. The days she didn't need him would come, oh, those days were definitely coming, but not yet. But why? Why had his name started to come up now, why _now_? Because of something they had done…? Bruce or Valerie—could their hands reach to England, to Hollis? She wasn't sure about Bruce, his obligations seemed to be restricted solely to Gotham, but who knew for sure what he was capable of.

She pulled her hands into fists, her stare still fixed on the wall. All the more reason to deal with Bruce Wayne, as soon as possible. Damn it, damn it, damn it, why did everyone have to make her life this—complicated.

The way she planned to pay Hollis back would have worked, if only she hadn't needed hot cash. Could she use Bruce to get the cash too? She narrowed her eyes at the wall as her mind processed the idea. Perhaps, perhaps, but it meant making another plan from scratch…so it brought her back to the same issue; time.

Or she could just plain threatening him for the money. Her expression soured. It was crude, second rate, like a common criminal, not worthy of her intelligence, not even close to her standards. No, Bruce Wayne had to see—had to understand who Selina Kyle was.

Tossing her head back, she almost roared with anger. She _hated_ when this happened, when her carefully thought plans collided with an unexpected turn of events, forcing her to change direction, rotate them to new paths.

Thomas, she thought grudgingly, it was entirely the fault of that fool. He just couldn't let her go. She stopped suddenly, tilted her head to side, a pleasant smile appearing slowly on her lips. Dear, sweetest Thomas, always bringing his trouble together with his own solution.

She threw herself on the armchair, still smiling, pleasantly. Yes, unexpected twists always changed the directions, but she was always at her best when it came to adaption.

x

Donned in a classic Chanel dress, complete with hat, gloves, and sunglasses, she was in front of his residence forty minutes later.

The house wasn't what she had expected for someone like him, a rising star in the underworld of Gotham, someone whose reputation was growing along with his pocketbook. She looked at the three stories of old brick a relic from the past, definitely in need of a few renovations. The plaster was peeling off here and there, but Selina couldn't help but notice the new wire that adorned every window on every story, and the close circuit camera system that observed every corner of the building and street meticulously.

She mentally smirked. She was definitely falling more in the mold of her new profession, a thief down to her core, and that thought was enough to spark her mood. She looked at the guard in front of her and declared clearly. "I need to talk with Mr. Malkin."

"Ma'am, if you'll give me a name—"

"I'm Selina Kyle, Thomas Elliot's stepsister."

She took her sunglasses and the enormous hat off before placing herself on the leather armchair in Derrick Malkin's study, but she kept the gloves on. She crossed her legs and smiled warmly at the racketeer. "Mr. Malkin, thank you for accepting my visit without any notice."

The man smiled at her his tilted eyes sparkling without betraying any thoughts they held behind them. "It's always a pleasure to make the acquaintance of friends' family members, Ms. Kyle."

She flashed a smile a little bit more roughish, "The feeling is very much mutual, Mr. Malkin."

Seeming unaffected by her, he gave her a look, leaning back on his seat. "As pleasurable as it is to know that it's mutual, I have to ask about the purpose of this sudden visit."

Selina relaxed her mouth but inwardly smiled even further. A down to business guy, excellent. "Thomas mentioned you're smart but he didn't mention you were this courteous."

"And I'm just amazed that Thomas mentioned me at all."

"Thomas knows he can't keep secrets from me. For the purpose of my visit, I'm in an immediate need of five hundred thousand dollars and I was hoping you could help me."

He arched one eyebrow, "Half a million dollars?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"Are you trying to open a new business, Ms. Kyle?"

"No."

He gave her a look. "May I ask then the reason behind this—immediate need?"

She held his stare and said evenly, "It's—personal."

His eyes still fixed on her, Derrick Malkin leaned forward and propped his palms on his desk. "Ms. Kyle, are you asking me to lend you half a million dollars without telling me what you will do with it, without giving me any proof how you will return it." He paused for a second. "I'm a business man, Ms. Kyle, an investor. An investor doesn't invest his money before knowing it will return."

"I will pay it back."

He finally broke their eyes contact, and leaned back once again. "Do you have any—concrete proof to support this claim?" He picked up a pencil from his table. "Anything other than your word?"

"No," she admitted, catching his eyes again. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Ms. Kyle, are you aware of what would happen in the case that I lent you the money but somehow you couldn't pay me back?"

Her eyes hardened but she still kept them riveted to his. "I'm perfectly aware of those prospects, Mr. Delkin." A smile blossomed on her lips. "But you don't need to worry. You'll have your money back. I'm a woman of my word. If you want—proof of that, just ask Thomas."

Suddenly Derrick smiled back. "You have a very… _different_ family, I have to say," he commented. "You're one of the wealthiest in America but you both go to racketeers to ask for money."

She sighed and shook her head. "Not quite true. Thomas only asked because he was desperate to prove his own worth to his father, Mr. Delkin. He would kill himself before he asked for money from his father. Father-son issues…sometimes they can be much too complicated. But if Rupert learned the truth of his son's—financier, he would certainly pay his debts…perhaps even unbeknownst to him. Despite their rocky relationship, it is family we're talking about, and Thomas is his only heir."

She let a breath out, and changed the direction of her crossed legs. "As for myself, I certainly wouldn't have qualms similar to Thomas' about accepting money from my step-father, but alas, at the moment we're having a sort of disagreement." She caught his eyes again and smiled further. "But make no mistake, Mr. Malkin. The moment Rupert Elliot learned I fell with racketeers he would still come to my aid. Despite of our—differences, I'm _still_ family too."

And as she had expected, the hawkish eyes glinted as he cocked his head. She had been right, this man was smart. "Ms. Kyle, would you be, by any chance, trying to use my—money to get back in the good grace of your family?"

Her smile blossomed fully, delightedly, as she stood up. "As I said, Mr. Malkin, my reasons are—personal." She went toward him, and held her gloved hand over his desk. "Am I correct in assuming we've come to an agreement?"

He stood up, and took her hand to give it a firm shake. "Please leave your bank details with my secretary outside. We'll provide your request by the end of night." He smiled just a little bit further. "As unusual as it is, it's still good to do business with you, Ms. Kyle."

She took her hand away, and gave the man her trademark smile. "The feeling—again is very much mutual, Mr. Malkin."

* * *

It seemed everyone she was scheduled to meet had an annoying tendency to show up late. Sighing, she threw the menu down on the table. Selina had been understandable; her purpose had been to drive her mad but Leslie Thompkins?

She threw her legs off of the seat next to her and ignored the eyes of three young boys drawn to the body parts in question. She crossed her legs for the sake of showing off—she had to maintain some of her finer attributes after all. She still ignored the boys' as their looks grew intensely hotter, instead she watched as the roots of the small hairs on her skin stood in the fall breeze. Another decision gone wrong, she thought, letting out a deep breath. The weather was getting decisively too cold for dresses.

She fished her telephone out of her bag and dialed Bruce. Since she felt miserable at the moment, she decided he had to share the feeling too. This was his brilliant idea after all. "She's running late."

"I know. She called me. She called you _too_," Bruce replied back, his tone slightly frustrated. "There is an emergency at the clinic."

"I don't care. It's not good manners," she shot back. "If I did it, I wouldn't hear the end of it from you."

"Yes, and it would have been because you were late because of shopping or something—"

"Jerk—"she hissed.

"She on the other hand, has a life or death situation in her hands."

She knew it, of course, and it wasn't like that she was even annoyed with the doctor or anything…she sighed inwardly… "This is ridiculous. I knew it. What can I—"

"Valerie, we already had this talk before and I'm not particularly in the mood for another round. We made a deal. You meet with Leslie, and I'll meet with Fox at Monroe's club."

"But you meet with Fox all the time."

"You know what I mean." She knew but didn't feel like voicing it out loud. She pushed the menu a little further toward other side of the table absentmindedly. "Valerie, do you have anything to say or did you just call to whine?"

"You're my boyfriend," she huffed exaggeratedly, "I'm allowed to whine at you. And you should take it without bitching."

"Yes, baby, but could you please whine at home? I promise I'll indulge you then in every possible way. I really need to go now."

"Where?"

"I have a meeting with the Law Department—"

"Ah, I see. Even that tart is more entertaining than me now—"

"Valerie, stop talking nonsense."

"What did you talk about with Selina?"

"Valerie we've had that talk too before and—"

"You can't keep me out of the loop. I'm involved too."

"Yes, you're involved when you shouldn't have been."

"That's ridiculous—"

"This conversation is spinning out of control and I neither have the time nor the wish to bicker with you. I'm going. Try to have fun."

"Bruce, don't you dare—" Her sentence was cut off by the sound of a long beep. He had already hung up—hung up on her, in her face!

She gaped at the phone for a full minute, then threw it down on the table and stared at it disappointedly when it didn't break. It should have broken. She wanted to break something—hurt something—someone—Bruce—Leslie—Selina—herself—she wasn't sure. Her hands curled into fists as she forced herself to find calm. She let out a rough breath, then with the corner of her eye she caught boys at the next table checking her out again.

She stood up, walked toward their table and dropped herself down on the empty fourth seat. The boys looked at each other in wonder; one blushed red, the other scowled faintly, while the third one looked slightly shy but amused. She leaned back in a showy manner, draping her arms over the armrests, and tilted her head.

"Why were you looking at me?" she asked intrigued, and waited for their answer. When they didn't reply, she cocked one eyebrow up, and asked again. "Well?"

The one with reddened face sputtered out, "We—we d-didn't."

Her eyebrow lifted further at his answer. "You're cute and—naïve, dear, when you sputter lies out of embarrassment and I have to admit, cuteness and naivety could work like a charm at first but after that it tends to get a little bit dull." She turned her attention to the other one. "Your friend claims he wasn't checking me out. Will you say the same?"

"No," the boy answered as his scowl deepened more. "I was looking because it seemed that was why you wanted, attention. The way you crossed your legs, the way you dropped in on us—"

"Hmm," she cut him off. "Brutal honesty… That might work too, not all the time though. You see, it's a dangerous game. It might work, but it might backfire tremendously too. Don't believe it when people say they want to know the truth. No one likes to hear the truth." She turned to the last one. "What will you say?"

He shrugged back with the careless indifference of youth and elegance. "I'm told one should appreciate beauty when one sees it."

Valerie let out a delighted big smile. "And we have a winner." She turned to other two guys, "Darlings, you see, this is how you talk to a pretty lady." She nodded approvingly, crossed her leg over the other. "Okay then, do appreciate it more closely. Now, who's gonna buy me a drink?"

"You're gonna sit here—just like that?" The red faced cute boy asked incredulously.

"Why not?" She lifted one shoulder up. "My friend is running late, and my boyfriend is being a dick. Apparently I need better friends. So let's be friends."

The young boys shared another glance, then the suave one shrugged back. "Okay. I'm Adam."

"Valerie," she answered. "Nice to meet you, Adam."

"Nice to meet you too, Valerie." He waved his hands to other two. "This is—" His hand indicated to the cute boy, "John, and the brutally honest jock there is Nathan."

"Nice to meet you too, boys."

Nathan, aka the brutally honest jock, asked, "So what do you want to drink?"

"I don't know. Surprise me."

Adam laughed silently as John reddened even more, and Nathan scowled further. "You remind me of my boyfriend. He scowls at me just like that."

"No, he doesn't." John remarked, his voice close to a timid whisper. She turned to him. "Br—Bruce Wayne. That was why I was looking at you. Saw you in the magazines but couldn't be sure."

"Ah—" she half sighed half said, "I see." She paused a little. "You may not believe it but sometimes I forget all about it." She scowled at them mockingly. "So were you checking me out because you wanted to be sure I'm the flavor of the month? Not because I'm a stunning, smoldering hot piece of meat?"

Adam signaled the waiter as he laughed again. "Oh, you're a stunning, smoldering hot piece of meat. Don't worry."

She pressed her hand on her heart in an exaggerated relieved manner. "Thank god."

The waiter arrived, Adam turned to him. "We'll have another round of beers, and a glass of water, and the lady here—" His hand waved towards her. "—will have a… martini—?" He looked at her. Valerie nodded, deciding she could skip a day of her pills.

"What it will be—?" the waiter asked. "Sweet cranberry, pomegranate, passion fruit?"

"She'll do with—passion fruit," Adam answered, smirking at her.

She roared playfully at him.

The waiter left after that, Valerie looked at his back then turned back to the boys. "So…what were you doing before I crashed your party? Waiting for girlfriends?"

Adam looked disinterested with the topic, Nathan looked neutral, and John looked distraught. "We were wasting time, having a couple of beers," Adam said as their drinks arrived.

She took her glass and bowed her head to take a sip from the drink, her eyes lifting up over the rim to catch them. "Hmm…don't have girlfriends then?"

"John has been pining for the same girl since we started the college," he turned to his friend. "Still hasn't made any progress though. He's always been for platonic love." He turned towards the other friend. "Nathan on the other hand-"

Nathan cut him off curtly, "I appreciate the notion Adam, but I prefer my private life remains _private_."

Adam barked out a laugh. "He's just afraid of her. If she saw you here with him, he'd be in some serious trouble."

"And you, darling? Aren't you taken?"

"I'm too young to be settled."

"Oh," Valerie replied, smiling, then paused, and tilted her head. "You three seem so different to hang around each other. How did you end up friends?"

"Childhood bond, grew up together," Adam answered absently.

"I see." She leaned forward, braced her bosom on side of the table and their eyes were drawn momentarily to her cleavage. She smiled flirtatiously and asked in a conspiratory whisper, "So…tell me boys, what do the youth of Gotham do for fun?"

Adam's expression lightened. "Well, there is something."

* * *

Stationed just outside the city, Nitrogen 14th was the best underground mobile party run for a profit in Gotham, and no one used the term rave, because that was passé and Nitrogen 14th was no rave.

Well, at least it wasn't according to Adam, but upon on setting foot inside Valerie had to admit it was close enough. The organizers seemed to bring together all the cutting edge, and eclectic music that drew an equally eclectic mix of clientele from the Avant-garde performance students, like Adam—she had discovered he was a Modern Dance freshmen at GU— to people from all walks of life, including the reserved types like John with relative ease.

But the most exciting thing about Nitrogen 14th was that, much like Liquid Heart, the organizers didn't neglect to provide a space for crowd performances and for the patrons to go wild with music, booze and, well, some certain other substances.

Sighing happily, Valerie let out a big smile. Adam strode off to get them some drinks, Nathan and John stayed on either side of her. She tugged her hands through their arms, and pulled them closer. "Boys, this is brilliant! It's been ages since I've been to a rave," she yelled at them over the music.

John smiled lightly as Nathan grunted faintly. "It's not a rave."

She smiled in return, and pulled them towards the stage. "It's seven in the evening, and these people already in a trance. Even if it isn't a rave, it's close enough, darling."

Then with Adam and drinks, _the girls_ arrived too. Three girls; one looking vintage with her dark rimmed glasses and retro haircut, another looked like some sort of next-door-type with her neatly clothes and strict expression, and the last one was an energetic blonde who was draped over Adam's arm, whispering something in his ear with a big smile. They seemed close, and he seemed very affectionate for someone who claimed he was too young to be settled.

Adam led them away from the crowd and from the loud music to somewhere they could do small talk without hurting their throats. "Girls, meet Valerie. We met today downtown." They all looked at her, and she smiled back. "This is Tara, and Jessica," Tara was the vintage type, and Jessica was the neat next-door, "And this sexpot here is Jill," he said pointing with his head the blonde on his arm. "We're all attending GU. Jill is my classmate, Jess is in Law, classmate of Nathan, and Tara is studying Journalism."

"Hi, girls," Valerie greeted them cheerfully. "Mind going to the restrooms?"

Jill leaped away from Adam. "Oh, right, I was going to go have a pee before Adam dragged us here." She started to walk away. Valerie walked after her, as the other two followed. "You're a dancer too?" Valerie asked the energetic girl.

"Yup." She turned on her heels to give Valerie a glance. "How did you met up with the guys anyway?" She asked pushing the make-shift restroom's door with her back. "You're not the type that usually hangs around them."

Walking into the restroom, Valerie went to the mirror to check her appearance. Truthfully with her bondage dress, designer sandals and rubies, she didn't look like the type that hung around Nitrogen. "I might be overdressed for such an occasion," she said at last. "But I wasn't planning attending a rave party."

Jill wrinkled her nose. "Nitrogen is no rave."

"That was what Adam said too."

"Of course," Jill agreed, "because it is not."

Valerie laughed. "I was sitting in a coffee shop waiting for a friend. Then it appeared she had to run late, my boyfriend was being a dick—and I was getting bored, and your guys seemed—like fun." She shrugged. "I'm new in Gotham, don't have many friends."

"So you decided to hang around with college students?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I've never been to a college party before."

Jill looked skeptical. "Come on…I mean—"bher hands waved at her, "come on—"

"Home educated," Valerie replied smiling then smeared the red lipstick on her lips, and pressed her lips together at each other. "You…two…Adam and you, are you involved?"

"Once," Jill answered, shrugging. "We're childhood friends, all of us, except Jess there. We lost our virginity to each other, when we were drunk, I mean, _reaaally_ drunk," she gestured with her hands for emphasis, "but then decided we're too young to settle down with relationships. We're still friends though, best friends in fact, and if we still don't have anyone when we're thirty, we're going to marry."

"This sounds just as stupid as the first time," Jessica said rolling her eyes as she adjusted her tight shirt properly over her jeans.

"Nah…they just watch a lot chick flicks," Tara answered shaking her head, "We'll get married if we're still single at thirty. Such a cliché."

"Thirty isn't so far away." Valerie gazed at her face on the mirror. "Believe me it isn't."

Jill laughed merrily. "Don't worry…you're still smoking hot—"she reassured her.

"Of course, I am."

"So your boyfriend was being a dickhead?" Tara asked intrigued.

"Yeah…He—" The rest of her words was cut by her phone's chirping. She took it out, and looked down, countless unanswered calls glinting over the screen. "Speak of the devil—" She muttered before she answered. "Darling—"she purred mockingly, "you seem to miss me a great deal. Did the tart bore you that much?"

"Valerie, what the hell are you doing on the outskirts of Gotham?"

"Ah, you noticed," she said, laughing huskily, her eyes dropped to the bracelet on her wrist.

"Leslie waited for you—"

"And I waited for her too, Bruce."

"Where are you?"

"I made some new friends!" she exclaimed merrily. "Lovely people. They brought me somewhere called Nitrogen 14th. Amazing place—honey, you should ditch Fox and come here too. I'm having such a lovely time down here."

She waited as Bruce searched the name she had supplied, then after a minute, he rasped out, "Valerie, are you at a freaking rave?"

"Bruce, please, Nitrogen is no rave."

"Stay put," Bruce hissed. "I'm on my way."

Smiling, she closed the phone. She let out a very satisfied sigh. Jill furrowed her brows, then exclaimed—"Bruce—that's your boyfriend's name? Oh my god! Oh-my-god! You're her! You're—"

"Yes," Valerie answered.

"And you were talking to Bru—"

"Yes."

"Bruce Wayne."

Smiling, Valerie nodded. "Yes."

"Oh my god!" the girl exclaimed again. "Oh my go—wait a minute—Bruce Wayne—the Bruce Wayne is coming here?"

Valerie laughed again. "Yes, dear."

Tara moved between in them. "Do you think we could interview him?"

"Geez…I look awful… I should have worn something nicer" Jill exclaimed as Jess whined, "No…you look great as always. _I_ look awful. I should have gone to fix my hair."

"Girls…stop, you both look fine, and Tara, I don't know—you'll have to ask him yourself."

"Do you think he'll talk to us?" Tara asked looking skeptical.

"Jesus, of course he will. I'm talking to you already—"

"But he's—I mean… he's Bruce Wayne."

"He's a good guy. And we're friends now. It'd be very bad manners not to say hi to my friends. Now," she took a few step backs away from the mirror and turned back. "Let's go and find our boys."

Jill laughed, and followed her with the other two. "Ah—I love this song," she hummed along the music, starting to dance.

Jill clasped her hand. "Let's go up to the stage then."

"My bag?"

She took it off her hands and threw it to Adam. "Adam, keep an eye on Valerie's bag. We're going up to the stage."

"Again?"

Jill grinned as Valerie leaned toward him. "Darling, can you answer my phone too, if my boyfriend calls? Let him know I'm around." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks a lot." She turned to Jill, and tugged at her. "Come on, let's go up."

Thanks to Jill and her friends around the stage, twenty seconds later they had their own place in the spotlights. Valerie smiled, looking at the crowd below her feet, and then closed her eyes, her smile growing wider. She turned to Jill who was already starting to synchronize her movements with the rest of the group on the stage. They made little waving gestures and winks at each other and Valerie gathered that they all knew each other, probably classmates, as she saw they also seemed to know their moves too; each motion went along with each other, synchronized, skillful, and slick. She did her best to match them.

Adam watched the girls on the stage with a smile. The world was a funny place, a very funny place indeed. One moment you could feel like dying from boredom, then the next you could watch two hot girls dancing on the stage while waiting for a phone call from the billionaire boyfriend of one of the girls.

The telephone started ringing. He took it out of the bag and looked at the screen to see the infamous boyfriend calling, and literally _Boyfriend_, as it was the name on the screen. He lifted his head to look at the girls once again and pressed the yes, and a man's frustrated voice exclaimed, "Get out. I'm waiting outside. And no, I'm not going to go crazy searching for you at a rave," before he could say anything

"Uh—you won't have to search for her, Mr. Wayne."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Adam. We met today."

The billionaire remained silent for a few seconds then slowly said, "I see. Where is she?"

"She's—uh—a little occupied right now. She asked me to answer in case that you—um, called."

"What's she doing—"The edge in his voice sharpened as his tone turned into a dangerous rasp, "exactly?"

"Dancing with one of my friends," Adam tried to reply indifferently. Life was indeed odd. He hadn't expected Bruce Wayne to be this—edgy. He seemed—well he looked like a fool, a truly lavish, spectacularly bored, naturally careless fool with lots, and lots, and lots of money, not someone like… well—not the someone that he'd sounded like a few seconds ago.

He heard the music playing over the line. "Where are you?"

"Do you see her?"

"Yes."

"Take a little turn towards the bar, we're in the left corner," Adam yelled into the phone. "We're directly under their position."

"Okay," he said, then hung up.

Adam sighed, and resumed watching the two hottest girls he had ever seen on the stage. After all, one should always appreciate beauty whenever it was offered freely.

* * *

_The next two parts will be solely focused on Bruce and Valerie, as your author gets carried away._

_See you the next week._


	21. The Way They Talk - Part I

_This two parted chapter is more like stand-alone installment as I felt it was needed to carry Bruce and Valerie's relationship to the next level, but alas, I'm very conflicted about it too, because first I think it's mucking up the pacing of the story, second, it's a little bit more graphic than my usual tastes, but dammit, it's hard to write a story about a nymphomaniac and an occasional 'caveman', trying to keep things still tactful._

_The lyrics at the start are from TV Rock's Bimbo Nation, one of my favorite songs of all times._

_Valerie's 'THERE. WILL. BE. NO. STOPPING!' is inspired by Doctor Who's legendary 'I. AM. TALKING!'_

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Nineteen: The Way They Talk **

**Part I - Euphoria**

* * *

_b.i.m.b.o… ultra, ego, falter, faker  
b.i.m.b.o… headhunting the money maker  
b.i.m.b.o… glossy, glamour, glitter girl  
b.i.m.b.o… princess of the bimbo world  
b.i.m.b.o_

Well, fairly mild, Bruce decided, standing at the fringe of the Nitrogen 14th, watching the stage. Then she made spun her torso around her hips, and bent down. The short dress didn't have any fabric to spare and rose over her hips letting him get a glimpse of her black thong. She cocked her head back to face to the crowd and slapped her ass, punctuating the lyrics.

Bruce growled and amended his first thought; mild for her standards.

Then he found the new friends. He closed in on the young man standing with a group of college students, barely out of their teens. He forced himself to unclench his jaw as he gestured to the phone and bag the boy held. The girls were looking at him with wide eyes, and the boys weren't much better although they hid it better. "Hello," Bruce greeted them as the boy handed Valerie's stuff back.

"Hi—" They sputtered, one of them, a girl with thick rimmed glasses, even gave him a little wave.

Valerie's eyes lowered toward them and she saw him. Her smile grew wider as he crossed his arms under his chest and sent her a glower. She approached the edge, leaving the rest of her group behind. Bruce went toward her, and when they both stood at opposite edges of the stage, she threw herself down at him. Hastily he took a step back, opened his arms and caught her before she sent both of them rolling to the floor.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lowered her down. "Darling, you look even more ridiculous than me in your suit."

He gave her another look. "That's because I'm dressed to attend a dinner party, Valerie, not some college rave."

"Please, Nitrogen isn't a rave," she yelled into his ear over the music, taking her bag from him. She put her phone in it and stuck the bag under her arm. "And since you're here, let's party."

"No, we're going home."

"But I just came. Adam said it'll be going for hours. I wanna stay."

"Valerie, when I said you need friends, I meant mature, grown up individuals, not some college freshmen. What are you trying to do here?"

"I went to meet with your friend, Bruce. It's not my fault she didn't show up."

"She showed up later."

"Too bad," she shrugged. "I couldn't wait that long."

"Okay, it was the first one, the second time will be better. Let's go home."

"Bruce, I really want to stay."

"Valerie—"

"Please?" She asked, biting her lips, and looking pleadingly.

"Stop playing to my soft side," he rasped, roughly pulling her closer. "I'm not going to stay at a college party."

"But the girls really want to meet you. And I said they would."

"I already met them."

"I'm quite positive you didn't. Nodding curtly to people and saying hello isn't the proper way to meet or make friends."

"Valerie, I don't want to be friends with college students."

"Well, I don't want to be friends with old doctors either but you're making me. It's only fair."

"Okay, okay," he gave in, nodding. "We'll stay and I'll be _friendly_ with your new friends, but you'll meet with Leslie again next week. Deal?"

"Deal," she answered then pressed herself against him, lifting her head up to his. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"

He bowed his head to the curve of her neck and growled against his skin. "Behave."

She giggled, rubbing him. "You must be the very first boy to tell a girl to behave in a rave, honey." He glared as a blonde girl suddenly jumped off the stage and looked at them with an open mouth. "Oh-my-God! You're really Bruce Wayne!"

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Jill, a little less enthusiasm please," she commented. "No need to give him an ego boost. His ego has already gone over his head as it is."

Jill shook her head. "Yeah, yeah. It's just—FUCK OFF!" she exclaimed again.

This time Bruce laughed too and offered his hand to the young girl. "Hello, Jill. Nice to meet you."

"Hello—Nice to meet you too—um—"she looked a little lost and paused, "uh—uh Mr. Way—"

"Please, Bruce."

She smiled big. "Okay."

"Is there somewhere around here that we can talk without yelling at each other?"

Adam joined the conversation while their other friends followed everything in silence. "Well, generally folks don't come here to talk."

"Yeah, I imagine."

"But the back is quieter, let's move."

"Excellent."

Ten minutes later, they were seated around one of a few booths in Nitrogen. Bruce looked at the others with a keen interest, holding an untouched beer. "So how did you meet?"

Valerie perked up, and lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. "Oh, I met the boys at the cafe where I was waiting for Leslie. They were sitting at the table next to mine. I met girls here. Adam is a modern dance performer; a freshman at GU, Jill is his classmate. Tara is studying journalism, Nathan is in Law, so is Jess—" She paused, burrows furrowing, "I don't know what John is doing."

"Social Sciences," John answered. "Anthropology."

Valerie's eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah—" the boy said, looking confused.

"Fascinating," Valerie said. "Are you going to move on to the other disciplines?"

"I'm planning to get my diploma in Anthropology by my third year then we'll see. Probably Archeology or Linguistic Anthropology."

"Go with history too."

"Yeah…" he said. "I might."

"Good," she nodded.

Jill laughed out. "Look at you. You're so excited." She laughed again. "Do you find studying old dusty bones hot?"

Valerie shook her head and gave her a look. "No, Jill. I find the knowledge—the knowledge only a few people know hot, very, very hot. I mean—you can dance well, because you have the technique, because you have the knowledge—some natural talent even, and it's hot—Law is basically all about knowledge, so is Journalism. Some knowledge is easily obtainable, if you have half a brain. But social sciences—drawing mind blowing conclusions about humanity just by looking at some old, dusty bones, now that's the kind of knowledge I'm talking about. And I think it's one of the sexiest things in the existence."

Jill remained silent for a while, looking at John with a new expression, digesting what she'd said as Bruce bent his head and growled slightly, biting her flesh. "Don't try to change the conversation. How did you meet _your boys_?"

Thankfully, before Valerie could answer him, Jill turned to her, smirking. "I think you gave John here a heart attack."

She smirked back at her then her eyes flicked toward John and then down to his crotch. "I don't think a heart attack is the only thing I gave him, Jill."

Jill giggled along with Adam's laughter as the others remained silent and John's reddened face was apparent even in the gloom. Bruce shook his head then started to move. "Guys, I'm taking your new pal away for a little while." He took her hand. "Come along, baby, let's dance."

He dragged her around the stage, toward the dance floor but didn't stop there. He kept walking till the end of the long corridor at the restrooms. Valerie sighed inwardly and let herself be dragged behind him. When they arrived in a corner that seemed deserted he flipped her around and cornered her against the wall. "Okay, sweetheart, now talk." He pressed his hand on the wall. "How did you meet?"

"Just like I said. They were sitting at the next table, and you know, my feet were killing me, so I threw my legs on another chair, and propped my feet on the armrest for better circulation and you see this dress—?"

"They made a pass at you?" Bruce asked.

"No. They're nice boys. But they were checking me out. And Leslie was running late and you were being a dickhe—ahhh—"Her words cut off as his body pressed on her, and he grunted.

"What happened then?"

"I went to their table and asked why they were ogling me."

He bent his head to her neck, and nipped the spot under her ear. She trembled, and pulled him even closer. "What did they say?"

"John could only mutter—" She let a moan out as Bruce's lips played with her. "— that he hadn't, Nathan went on the defense, and Adam said he'd been told that one should appreciate beauty when one saw it."

"So you stayed with them."

"Well, you told me I needed friends. They're good guys, and fun. I had a very good time tonight."

"I can imagine," he murmured heatedly. "Why I always have to find you making out with people when you're mad at me?"

"I didn't," she objected. "I didn't touch any of them."

"When I walked in, your hips were sticking up in the air at the crowd, and you were slapping your ass. You were making out with the crowd."

"That doesn't count," she rubbed herself on him. "That's dancing, darling, and I like dancing, a lot."

"I noticed." His lips went south, towards her shoulder, and she let out another moan as he bit the crook of her neck slightly. "Why were you trying to distract the topic over there?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She bent her leg over the back of his knee as Bruce's hands started to roam over her hip. "Mm… Jill and Adam have a thing, Jess probably has a crush on Nathan, and Tara might have the hot's for him too, but Nathan is seeing another girl, who wasn't here tonight and I believe John has a crush on Tara." She lifted her leg further up, wishing it was already around his waist but the damn dress wasn't letting her take it any higher. She let out a frustrated grunt, "Enough with questioning," then let out a throaty moan when Bruce made a fast move over her body, which created a maddening friction along their crotches. "Bruce, darling, fuck me."

"Let's go home."

She shook her head. "Can't wait that long." She checked the make shift restrooms over Bruce's shoulder. "Let's go to the restroom."

She felt his body tighten as he rasped curtly, "No."

She nodded, understood, and pulled him closer. "Ok—okay. No restrooms—I—I'm—"

He cut her off by claiming her lips fiercely, and catching his head, she responded with an equal fire. He moved his hands south, pressing all of his weight down into her. He caught both of her legs in a tight grip, and lifted them around his waist. She felt the fabric of her dress go over her hips as Bruce grabbed under her ass.

As soon as his hands squeezed her buttocks she understood his intention. She tied her ankles around his back, and by the time her arms wrapped tightly around his neck Bruce had already started to walk toward the corner. Through half-mast eyes she saw a metal door labeled with red letters as 'Staff Only".

"Oh, Bruce— I—" Her back hit the metal surface, and underneath a fog of arousal and lust, a myriad of emotions hit her hard. The words came to the tip of her tongue and she opened her mouth—to say—she wasn't sure what…I love you... One of the hands under her ass went to open the door… only to find it locked. Of course.

Coming out of her stupor, Valerie let out a deep frustrated grunt, as Bruce growled in annoyance. He put her on down fast, then twirled her around to his back. She hugged him from the back and took a step back as Bruce took one too, and then he kicked the door open.

His arm went back to grab her again, and he turned her around and pushed her inside. She looked at the tiny storage room, at racks full of toilet papers, paper towels and detergents then turned her eyes to him. Holding her gaze, he pushed the bolt at the top of the door to close it and then advanced on her.

She took small steps back in the dinky crowded room as he kept closing in on her, their eyes still fixed on each other. Valerie unconsciously licked her bottom lip as Bruce cornered her at the wall once again.

His hand slipped under her dress, and he pulled aside the small underwear and brushed his fingertips over her folds. "How badly do you want me?"

Her head hit the wall as she moaned, "Very—very badly. Darling, no playing."

"No playing?" he asked, bent his head toward his neck and made long, wet trails over her jaw line, just under her jaw line, over that spot he knew made her legs tremble. "I thought you like playing."

"Not now—" She forced out with difficulty, "Not now…I just want you now…"She groaned as one finger slipped inside her. "Ah—"

"You won't take off on me again," he said with a stern voice. "Will let me know when you decide to change the plans."

"You don't…" She whimpered. "Tell me… changed the plans—ahhh—" He added another finger and picked up his rhythm, "didn't tell me—"

"Different—"He hissed. "Valerie—I thought we put that on hold—indefinitely."

She let out a deep breath, curling her nails into his skin, and steeled herself to clear her voice. "Bruce, I don't want to fight, I don't want to talk—I want to fuck…I want to be fucked out of my mind. Will you be kind enough to do—_me_? Or will I need to take care of it again?"

His fingers pinched her clit. Her body thrashed with the unexpected move, and she cried as Bruce looked at her sharply. "Pleasuring yourself—it'll be enough to satisfy your kinky ass? When don't you aim to torture me?"

"Look—at me," she forced out as his hands kept working on her. "Fucking hot—just enough snapping my fingers, then my suitors get line up—start begging just to be allowed to touch me—fuck me—in the rest—AHHHHHH!"

"Don't threaten me with that, Valerie, _don't._"

"Then be a man and fuck me."

He pulled his fingers abruptly, caught her wrist and opened the door. He left the storage room, dragging her too.

"Bruce—?"

"Shut up!"

He stopped at the far corner of the restroom as Valerie's eyes widened. "Bruce—"She started to talk but he started to tap on the doors to find out which one wasn't occupied and when there wasn't any sound coming the one at the end of the line he opened the door and shoved her roughly inside.

Her feet stumbled on the doorsteps as she backed into wall, and she had to balance her hand on the tiles to catch herself. "Bruce…I—" He walked inside too, yanked her off the wall, and pulled her to him. His hand locked the door behind.

He turned her around against his chest. "Bend down," he ordered.

She titled her head back. "Bruce—"

He lowered her forward. "You want to be fucked out of your mind in a filthy restroom? If that's what you want then you shall get it, Valerie. Bend down, spread your legs wide and stick your ass up."

She felt her eyes water as she looked down at the dirty tiles of the toilet. When she didn't move, he pushed her forward, this time roughly, and forced her into the position. The dress rose again with the motions as she gazed at her feet, trying to get her thoughts clear, then his hands ripped her thong off her skin. She closed her eyes, a choked sob escaping from her throat. "Do you want to slap your ass too? Or would you prefer me doing it?" He slapped the exposed left hip. "Or is it your pussy again? Tell me."

His hand caressed her ass before another slap landed on her skin. "Perhaps you want me to put it there? That would surely be enough to pound you at the end of the world."

"Stop—" He didn't, another slap hit her again, punishing her—because this was what she deserved…not all those beautiful things, but a filthy fuck in a filthy toilet—Her ticked breath caught in her throat—She needed to be punished...punished... bad girl, bad seed..."Please, stop," another sob escaped out of her tight throat—then she fell on her knees. "Don't punish me—"

Within a heartbeat, his arms wrapped her. "Valerie—Val, look at me. I wasn't—I wasn't... Never. Never."

"I don't like to be punished," she mumbled.

"I know." He cradled her further. "I'm sorry."

"I want to be nice. I'm trying—but there is something—some—thing—"She choked—that whirring, insatiable, unnamable thing… She felt something grip her chest, something cold, malign, unyielding… She choked again, trying to take a breath…then gasped, breathless, no breaths left... "Bruce—can't breathe—"

Idiot, stone headed idiot, Bruce chided himself, lifting her head. "Valerie—listen to me—think of us—think of us, close your eyes, baby, close your eyes. I love you, okay, I love you, I love all of you—listen to my voice—you're the best—the most beautiful thing happened to me…Baby—" He took her hand, and caressed her pulse that was throbbing under his finger frantically. "Remember the feelings you feel beside me—hang on to it—remember the girl we saved—"Her pulse started to slow down and he caressed her back with his other hand. "Remember our first time—remember the pub—our movie night—remember Marry Poppins—how desolated I was feeling and you were there for me."

"Bruce—I—I—" She sobbed again as the rest of the words trailed off.

"Shss… It's okay, baby, it's okay." She snuggled against his chest even further, tighter, and let out another deep sob then laughed between her sobbing gasps. "No wonder why you're in love with me… Next to me even you seem normal."

Bruce faintly laughed back too. "I'm not sure if you insult me or yourself."

"Both, I think."

He caressed her hair, and rested his chin on top of her head. "I'm sorry, Val. I wasn't trying—wasn't hurting you, _never_." He shook his head. "Shouldn't have lost my temper. Please forgive me, I'm an idiot."

She tightened her arms, tilted her up to kiss his neck, her lips brushing over his Adam's apple. "You're my idiot. Were you worried about me that much?"

He surpassed the urge to shudder as she worked her way up, and tightened his arms. "When Leslie said you weren't around, I called you. When you didn't pick it up—"

She angled her head to side and found his earlobe, "I didn't hear it. There was music in the car—"

"Vibration?"

"Bag wasn't on me—I'd thrown it beside me…Bruce, I wasn't trying to play hard-to-get. I answered your call."

Ignoring her nipping teeth just below his ear, he lowered his head to give her a look. "An hour later…I left fifteen calls. Valerie, fifteen calls, you didn't hear them in the car, okay, but then what's your excuse for others…you must have heard some after you arrived."

"At a rave?"

"You must have checked your phone," he countered back.

She stayed silent then said slowly, "It might be that I was playing hard-to-get a little bit. But Bruce I didn't think you'd go apeshit crazy—"

"An hour…Valerie…When I checked the tracking device and saw you out of Gotham in an old warehouse, I thought I was losing my mind. Nitrogen is a mobile gathering—it doesn't show on the maps. I just saw your location in a _warehouse_. There is an entire city's mob after you then there is Ivakonovic, then your old friends…to whom you make calls… Valerie, can you imagine how my hour passed driving to find only God knows what, while you tried to decide when to finally pick up my call?"

"You were worried for naught. The mob is after Cameron Reese, Ivakonovic is behind bars, and well, for my old friends, Valerie is someone of no importance."

"And Selina knows about you, Ramirez knows things, Ivakonovic might be behind bars but that doesn't mean he couldn't reach beyond, and your old friends…Valerie—"

"My calls weren't traced, Bruce and you personally checked it yourself—we called Jeremy together—"

"They could find Christopher, you made yourself—"

Valerie scowled into his skin. "Bruce Wayne, are you trying to scare me?"

He leaned back an inch to give her another look. "I'm trying to make you understand. I was worried sick for an hour then you opened your phone with a sultry 'hello' like nothing happened. Then I figured out you were in a rave in this damn warehouse. Then when I arrived, your phone was picked up by a stranger, who said you were occupied. Then I came inside, and I saw you up at the stage, sticking up your ass in the air, slapping it!" he exclaimed with fast words, voice incredulous and frustrated, as the fire of rage he had been feeling returning. "Valerie, how many times do I have to tell you? You can't go on your own all the time now."

She pushed herself out of his embrace, and stood up. "Well, for someone who berates me about not going on my own, you certainly do that a lot."

He stood up too, passed his hand through his hair. "Valerie, please, _stop_ running around in circles. Don't move this there, it was different, and off topic."

"I say it's just on topic."

"No, it's not and I'm getting tired of having this discussion, especially when we're talking about something entirely else."

"It's relevant, and don't take that tone with me, Bruce, you're still not the boss of me."

"Apparently, I am not," he shot back. "Or else we wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place."

She fisted her hands in fury. "Do you ever wonder why this conversation always ends up popping up every time we have a fight? I'm the one who always has to cave in while you stay still. I'm just wondering, Bruce, what would have happened if I did something to you like you did to me? Would I have been tied up in bed, and frustrated for hours until I begged for forgiveness along with release?"

He shook his head. "Valerie—we're not playing a BDSM scenario here. I have no desire to play any game with you anymore. The only reason why we're in this goddamned toilet is because you've threatened me with it."

She crossed her arms in defense. "I've threatened you with lots of things, Bruce, interesting that's what you chose to notice."

"You're impossible—"

"Look who's talking."

"—within a mere half hour, we fought, we made out, then we fought again, then we made out again, then we fought more."

Bruce looked at her and she looked back at him. She let out half of a sigh and half a faint weary laugh. Wound down, she gave another loaded sigh out and walked to him. She entwined her arms around his waist in a hug. "Because you're so—frustratingly unmovable all of our discussions head to a deadlock. Bruce—" The rest of her words cut off by a furious pounding on the door.

"Finish your job, will you? And you, for god's sake, fake it already. I have to pee."

Valerie burst into giggles shaking her head. "That's ridiculous. We can't even manage to fuck."

He pushed her hair back gently, and kissed the tip of her nose. "Let's go home then."

She nodded. "Okay, you go first."

Bruce took a step back, turned around and opened the door. He didn't look at the girl waiting in front of the door, her arms crossed under her breast, her feet tapping on the floor agitatedly. Bruce passed by her without looking, and the girl shouted after him, "Hope it was worth it, jackass, my bladder was going to burst."

Following Bruce, Valerie walked out, and stopped at the threshold, looking down at her, and tossed her hair. Even though they couldn't manage to fuck themselves out of their minds, with the recent fights and with her annoyingly high level of arousal, she probably still looked thoroughly done. "Oh, it was, dearie—it was mind—" She stopped abruptly, her face going blank as she caught what she'd just said, then without another word, she stormed off down the corridor.

She walked toward the lounge, trying to keep her face calm and neutral, while her inside roiled with a new found fury—of course, of course, Selina, it was all her fault! If only she could find a way to drive the witch out of their life—she was sure she could deal with Bruce and his annoying… immobility. But she couldn't fight on two fronts, especially if one front had Bruce while the other had Selina. She needed find a way to get rid of her… Perhaps teaming up with Thomas…enemy of my enemy…or another call to Jeremy to hear from that Hollis… No…no…she had promised—promised not to go behind his back again…she had promised. And if Bruce learned she started scheming again, with Thomas Elliot nonetheless, he wouldn't take it well. He had said so. No…she couldn't risk it, couldn't risk losing Bruce that way…she simply could not. And dammit, she didn't want to scheme with anyone!

She just wanted to be with Bruce…fucked up or not, she just wanted to be with him. She wanted to help him while he fought his monsters, giving her support and everything else she could. She wanted to always be there for him, for whatever he needed, she only wanted him to look at her with those eyes shining with trust, approval, pride, affection, and love.

Selina's words started to go over her minds, mocking and belittling… _"Are you even allowed to talk to me? What would happen if he caught you now? Perhaps he might bend you over his knee and give you a good spanking. Perhaps you might even beg for it."_

Her hands pulled into fists as she chanted mentally-damn you, damn you, damn you back to hell, witch!

_Ok, Val, don't freak out, take deep breaths…take deep breaths…_ Bruce waited for her before the lounge, so she put a smile on her lips and leaned into his side, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Say your goodbyes then we go home, kay?"

She pressed her head to his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah, you've still yet to indulge me properly."

"I will, baby," he answered.

She smiled at him, feeling the familiar calm sweep over her. It was stupid, just moments ago she was having a break down…"No more fighting this time?"

"Nope, we might even stop talking at all," he murmured into her ear. "We don't always need words to communicate after all."

She smiled wider, rubbed her nose against his shirt, breathing his musky scent. When they arrived at the lounge, she sat next to Jill who gave her a look, and then the young woman smirked, and exclaimed. "Oh my, someone has been wicked!"

Valerie smiled. "Do you have a pen?"

Jill turned to Adam. "Find us a pen."

Adam dutifully searched as Jill leaned to her. "So how was it? Where did you do it? Back stage? Storage room? Hope it wasn't the restroom." She gave her another look at her filthy knees then sighed out. "Ah…it was restroom. I'd recognize that dirt on the knees from everywhere."

Valerie shook her head, laughing. "No comment."

"God, you made so horny now. I might even corner Adam to some…corner."

Just at that moment Adam returned, Valerie took the pen from his hands, and took Jill's hand. "Now, darling, this is my number," she started to write her number on her palm, "Give it to the others too, will you?" She asked, giving her the pen. She opened her own palm, and offered it to Jill as Bruce settled down next to her. "You should write it down on your phone, your hands will begin sweating soon," he whispered into her ear.

She gave him a look as Jill wrote her number happily. "Can I call you anytime?"

"Anytime you want, I'll surely do the same." She stood up then as Bruce followed her. "Now guys, it was wonderful to meet you all. I had the nicest time." She smiled and blew all of them a kiss. "I hope to see you all soon."

Bruce smiled too. "Goodbye, folks, have fun, and try not to get in trouble…much."

After Bruce shooed away a curious crowd around his car—the latest model Lamborghini apparently wasn't something that should be left unattended in front of Nitrogen 14th—they drove off. As soon as Bruce emerged on the main road, Valerie leaped over his left side, squeezed herself between the door and him, and swung her legs to his right. "Valerie, you keep doing this and one day we will really end up in a crash," he warned as she began necking him.

"Nah—you're very good at multi-tasking."

"What if the police see us?"

"Then you will make to the front page," she giggled, "How Bruce Wayne was put behind bars because he and his girlfriend were being naughty."

He scoffed, "And how you'd like it."

"Bruce, people have started to recognize me now," she said, voice troubled. "They couldn't figure it out at first but then both the girls and the boys realized it. I've been seen too much on TV."

Bruce grimaced. "You should stop coming with me to parties."

She stayed silent for a while, then asked, "Are we going to pretend like we aren't lovers now?" She grimaced. "Are you going to start taking escorts to parties again?"

"No," he replied immediately. "No, of course not. I'll figure something out."

"You'd better," she warned, "Because if you think that I'd let you take those sluts to parties without me, you're dead wrong."

He chuckled, his attention flicking away from the road to give her a look. "For someone who claims she isn't jealous because of me you're sure a little bit possessive, baby."

"I'm not jealous," Valerie answered, rolling her eyes. "Those airheads wouldn't keep you interested even for a second. I'm just trying to prevent you from tarnishing my good reputation."

"Yeah, of course, my bad."

"Bruce, I'm going to tell you something, but you won't get mad at me, kay?"

Bruce suddenly pressed on the brake, slowing down the car, tires screeching on the asphalt and pulled aside. "I don't like the conversations that start like this."

She shook her head. "I didn't do anything. It isn't even a big thing, but I think you need to know it, I _want_ you know it. I don't like fighting with you."

"Okay, so what's the problem? Why do you think I'd get mad at you?"

"You always get mad at me," she murmured against his skin.

"Valerie—" He warned.

"It happened a week ago."

"Hmm… I see," he paused. "Did you talk with Selina?"

She sighed. "Am I that transparent now?"

"No, I'm just getting better at reading you, that's all." She sniffed. "Don't get mad. After all the things that've happened, I believe, I'm allowed to have that unique privilege." She sniffed again. "Because I love you, and you love me." She opened her mouth. "I know it doesn't even exist—and it doesn't matter either, it's just a phrase… Words… I don't need to hear them… I believe it and that's enough for me. We don't need words to communicate all the time."

She didn't accept, she didn't object, she just tightened her arms and squeezed him. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you… I—really don't des—"

"That's," he cut her off sternly. "That's what I _don't_ want to hear from you, Valerie. I told you once, and I'll tell again. If you want me to, I'll tell it to you every day, every morning, every noon, every night, every hour, every second. You deserve me, you deserve this, stop telling yourself otherwise. We deserve this."

"Bruce," she called seriously, "I'm getting insanely wet." He laughed. "We're going to fuck this time, are we?"

"Yes, quite positively." She let out a sigh of relief. "So, what did you talk about?"

"Nothing serious, no need to get worried. She just came to goad and let me know that I've gotten off of the hook. She said our—deal is closed." She sighed. "Bruce, you can relax, I suppose. I've lost her interest, but I believe you've truly piqued it."

Bruce scoffed. "That was why you were bitching at me to learn what we talked about? Valerie—"

"No, I want to know, because it also concerns me. You can't—you have no right to keep me out!"

"Valerie—"

"No, I don't want to argue with you. I'm coming clean and you should start doing it too. Bruce, I'm letting you taking care of my mess. I'm standing aside, but I still want to be in, don't exclude me. I really lost her interest anyway." She shot him a glance. "She said you threatened her—"

"I didn't threaten her. I just told her we're off limits."

"Well, she took it as a threat. She's—" She sighed. "Bruce, you should have seen her the night I went to Dylan. She's—delirious and she loves it. She's spent her life making Thomas' hell because of something that happened in the past. She got her mother divorce from Rupert Elliot when she thought she needed to learn a lesson, god only knows what. We're just lucky that she's not prone to violence—not much. I was carrying a gun on me when you were shot, she saw it, and told me coldly that she doesn't like guns. She was serious about it, thank god, she was. But she's, well, not in her right mind. I know it because I recognized it well enough..."

"You're not like her."

"Because you've changed me." She kissed his neck then moved her lips to his jaw then to his lips. "You're the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me too." He deepened the kiss. Valerie made a humming noise low in her throat, and swung herself over his lap, all the while kissing him back hungrily. He pulled back and shoved her off again to left. "Don't get carried away. Home, that's where I'll indulge you."

He started the car again, as she sighed. "If I don't get at least three orgasm tonight, I'll be severely disappointed."

He squeezed her hand. "You will."

She giggled, snuggled closer, making small circles over his chest. She remained silent for a while then started to speak again slowly. "When I said she's insane, she just said being sane is overrated—said, this is much better—" Bruce let out a sigh and pulled her closer. "She will come after you now, Bruce, she will."

"I—_we_ will deal with her." He squeezed her. "I won't keep you out anymore, okay? You'll stand aside but you won't be out of the loop. And I'll be more—_moveable._" He smiled at her. "See, this is the way we should deal with our problems. Talking."

She rolled her eyes. "You just said we don't need words to communicate."

"I said not always, not all the time. In these particular cases unfortunately we still need words."

She giggled. "Do you remember what people say in Egypt? About people communicating by talking and animals—"

"_People talk, animals sniff_," Bruce completed for her, then his voice lowered into that husky suggestive tone as he whispered into her ear. "Are you suggesting when we fail to communicate with words we should sniff—" His nose rubbed against her neck, and he sniffed, "each other?"

"Well, it sounds better than kicking you out of bed."

"Indeed," he acceded, driving into the manor's driveway.

Valerie sighed deeply. "At last! Carry me inside."

He stopped the car, pulled her into his lap, and opened the door. He turned them, swung his legs down to the pavement, and stood up, holding her as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He lifted his head to catch her lips in an open mouthed kiss as he started to take steps one by one. A few minutes later, her back hit on the entrance's door and one hand slipped away from her and fished out the keys. He opened the door, and went directly to the stairs for the master bedroom.

Suddenly Valerie unwound her arms and legs and slipped out of his grip. She caught his tie and pulled him down too while lowering herself to the steps. "Valerie—" he rasped getting down between her legs.

"We're at home," she breathed out, "Let's do it—here—on the staircase," she entwined her legs around him again, the bare skin underneath rubbed against his clothes. "Indulge me here. I used to dream—"

Her words were cut off as his hands ripped the dress from her body. "Is there any place in this house you didn't dream of having sex with me?"

She lifted her arms above to help him. "No." He chuckled throatily, the damn dress was finally taken off her body and Bruce threw it away over his shoulder. Then he started to unbuckle his pants, lowering them while Valerie urged him, her hands already on his hips, "quick, quick, quick—" she breathed out and warned, "No foreplay, no fucking foreplay…I can't take it anymore."

His fingers ran over her folds then he pushed a finger inside. She moaned tossing her head back. "Will take care of you ba—Alfred—" he suddenly cried out, "What are you doing here?"

Valerie angled her head up to see Alfred and Lucius Fox's stoned expressions just around the left corner as Bruce yanked her down under him to cover her naked body. Her back hit on the edges and she cried out not with pain, but frustration. "For god's sake! Why can't I get fucked tonight?"

"Valerie!" Bruce exclaimed, as Alfred sputtered, "We—we um wanted to talk with you when we saw you driving into lane, sir. Um—we—" He trailed off as Fox remained in shocked silence.

Bruce looked at them funny. "Alfred, Lucius, could we have some privacy, _please_?"

"Yes, uh, sir." Alfred quickly retreated, Lucius following his example.

Bruce started to raise himself up, but Valerie pulled him down furiously. "Don't even think about it. Get on with it, for god's sake, do I need to beg?"

"Valerie, let's move to the bed, okay?"

"We shall…not." She turned them around, mildly irritated and beyond sexually frustrated, straightened up and straddled him. Her hands went south and she started to finish the unbuckling he had started. "I'm going to get fucked, and I'm going to get it _now_. Not even a second later." When she was done with his pants, her hands caught his tie and she curtly yanked it off and popped his shirt's buttons open. "And I don't care if all Gotham shows up to watch the act." She lifted her head at the ceiling and started shouting. "Hello Wayne Manor, this is Valerie speaking. I'm about to finally get fucked on the main staircase. If the nudity and sexual intercourse disturb you, I strongly suggest you stay clear of the main hall because after we've started, THERE. WILL. BE. NO. STOPPING!"

"That should do it," she said listening to the absolute silence over the hall.

"You're crazy," Bruce remarked laughing.

"You drove me crazy and my only remedy is in your—hands," she said back, pushing the last of his clothing down. "Now, let's cure me, shall we?"

Bruce turned her around with a sudden move and pushed her until her back hit the wall at the corner. He spread her legs wide open and positioned himself. She leaned, and twisted her body on her side to give him a better leverage, and used her feet to take off of her shoes as Bruce pulled her up simultaneously, grabbing her hips and shoving himself in with a long stroke.

"Yesssss," a long wail tore out of her throat as she arched up over the steps. Bruce caught her by hair and pulled her head down to an open mouthed kiss, as he started moving. "Oh—Bruce—yes—darling—more—" Her twisted body hit the edges of the stairs as Bruce pulled her down towards his crotch, thrusting with strokes that got gradually rougher and faster as she demanded. She cried, cried with pain and pleasure and Bruce knew tonight was going to leave many bruises behind, yet he didn't stop, he couldn't stop, and she didn't seem to mind it at all.

She rubbed her bare feet along his hips to shove his pants completely down. He realized her intention, and one hand went down to give her a helping hand then the pants dropped around his ankles and she slid one step down along with him but was stopped by his grip at the half of the second. She cried out with pain as her back hit on the edge. Bruce pulled her upward and rested her once again on the wall. Twisting his body, and resting one leg on the same step with her, he picked up his speed further.

Her screams turned into long wails, and he braced his hands on either side of her head on the wall, his lips covering her face, neck, shoulders fiercely, marking his territory. Momentarily he remembered Ivanakovic, the way she moved next to him, the fantasy shifted as he added himself to the bed next to her…Valerie…his Valerie…getting fucked by him…no one but him, no one else but him! He closed his eyes, shook the image off and claimed her lips again, his hips driving in her madly. She wrapped her arms around his neck for strength when the force of his thrusts got too much for her to take, and hugging him, she pushed herself forward to meet with his thrusts.

Bruce dropped one hand from the wall, roughly pulled her even closer as his lips found the joint of the neck and shoulder, and he bit her hard. Groaning, she shuddered. He grunted in her ear, not slowing down his pace even a little, "cured enough?"

"Darling—cure me more…"

"I am—"he grunted, "curing you—like none one else—"

"Only you—" She breathed out then another wail escaped from her throat when he lifted her left leg up to the upper step that let him to drive fully inside her depths. "Bruce—more—baby—more, oh, god, please more…"she pleaded with cries, then incoherent words spilled out of her lips as he fulfilled her pleas. "Better—than the restrooms?" he grated, sucking her jaw line.

She didn't answer, she couldn't, long drawn out rough grunts were the only answer she could manage anymore, synchronized with his maddening pace, as he found her marvelous spot inside and kept hitting on it, and then with a move he managed to press and rubbed his pelvic bone around her now fully erected other spot. Her screams turned into helpless choking wails and she forsake even try to keep up with his pace, just hung around his neck, writhing pressing in on him while he fucked her like she had demanded; out of her mind, completely.

"Bruce—Bruce—co—coming—"But she stayed—wriggling, grinding, squirming—a trashing desperate heap—hovering at the edge, like she needed just one more thing for her big finish, feverish eyes pleading him to push a button, her nails scratching the bruises at his side unconsciously…then she guided his left hand over her body, and choked out, "Bruce, please, please…give it to me…" He then realized what she needed.

"Will give it—to you, everything you need—always…" He grunted, then moved his hand over her back and found the newest bruise forming there. He arched his fingers over the sensitive skin and pushed her buttons all the way down. Her nails drew blood from his skin, her face and body stiffened with agonized pleasure, then she roared with her head tossed back—the swollen heat in her core clamped Bruce in rhythmic waves that sent him surging into that violent balm with her, dragging him to swirl into her maelstrom, as he held himself at the edge, his fingers dug into her flesh, sweat beads covering his skin, while she rode her powerful orgasm.

Her energy spent, she slumped down, her chest moving up and down frantically, her body shaking with powerful tremors, she looked at him with eyes unfocused yet glistening with the lingering euphoric state of her bliss.

And seeing her just like that was about to undo his restraint. Closing his eyes, he recalled all the techniques he had been taught, ignoring the strong presence of his need for his own release. Regaining his composure after a while, he secured her under him on the wide step and pressed the tip of his penis on her entrance.

"Br—Bruce—" She groaned as he gave her a teasing shallow thrust then rubbed his erection along her inner lips as his fingertips made faint circular motions over her clit. She trembled, her face twisted in pain as she drew in a breath.

He stopped his fingers but kept rubbing his penis over her entrance as his hands crawled up to touch around her navel. He bent his head to the gap between her breasts. "Relax. Take your time—three orgasms," he puffed out against her left breast as he started thrusting shallowly again. "We shall make it multiple ones—won't disappoint you, ever."

She trembled as his lips found her nipple. "You couldn't—not possible—"she moaned and started to grind her hips above his slightly. "Bruce—"

"Getting better?"

"Yeah…you? Still not come…?"

"I'm—fine…don't think about me… We're indulging you… will always take care of you…" His eyes bore through hers. "I'll stay in tonight—won't leave you alone—" He gave a long thrust, filling her again, but didn't pull out, instead rested over her. "I love you," he whispered.

She closed her eyes, giving a deep breath out before opening them again. "I—I—"she mumbled, her heart beating madly, blood drumming in her ears…"I—tell me—Bruce," her eyes watered. "tell me, please."

"You love me."

"Yes…" she whispered, "Yes..." She wrapped herself around him, and pulled him even closer. His weight pressing on her, the motions drew him deeper inside. Bruce trembled and grunted her name, pushing back and drove himself once again, slowly building a leisured rhythm that with anyone else, she could have never let herself be, but with him even torture was the most beautiful thing.

His smell filled her nostrils, her insides, through her body, clouding all her other senses. His voice—her name on his lips coated her—just Bruce—just him…everywhere—sweeping in every cell—she felt elevated, to another phase of existence, where everything consisted of him—only him—him inside her, she felt fulfilled—She closed her eyes, felt herself falling—falling into pure bliss.

When she came around, she felt tears running down her cheeks.


	22. The Way They Talk - Part II

**Chapter Nineteen: The Way They Talk**

**Part Two - Esctasy**

* * *

Bruce gently pulled out of her, his body still shaking with the tremors of the release that he finally had let himself. His hand reached out to cup her cheek, and wiped her tears away. But he didn't say anything, thank god he didn't say anything, he simply bent his head to give her a slow tender kiss. She sighed in his mouth, closing her eyes, and breathed his scent in.

She broke the kiss, laughing, half dreading, half expecting her laughter to turn to breathless hysterical sobs, not aware that they were already close. She rubbed her dripping nose over his neck then said still laughing, "I'm getting you all dirty with my juices."

He laughed back, and kissed her neck. "It's okay, I love—your juices."

She laughed more. "Did I get to climax again? I don't—remember it."

He caressed her hair. "Yes, baby. You may have—uh momentarily have passed out."

She shook her head on his shoulder. "That's stupid," she murmured. "Just what you guys want to believe. No one passes out because of an orgasm…If it was, I'd have already known it."

"Well, you had _two_…immediately one after another…it's a demanding tiring process."

She sniffed half laughing, half sobbing. "Only _you_ could describe an orgasm as a demanding tiring process."

He smiled back. "Why, do you want me start talking cheesy?" She sniffed again then he slightly pulled back, gently brushed the sweaty bangs away from her forehead, and said seriously. "I'm glad that I managed to give you something you haven't experienced before." She murmured incoherently against his skin. "Got sleepy too?"

"You've turned me into a mush," she mumbled out. "Take me to bed."

"Yeah, we'd better start moving before another embarrassing episode occurs anyway," he said, sighing, and dutifully pried himself from her embrace.

"It wasn't embarrassing—" Valerie murmured as she rested herself on the wall. He pulled his pants up, buckled them and put one arm under her knees. He circled the other across her back. "—it was a hell of annoying," she snickered. He shook his head then gathered her up.

She snuggled to him, and sighed again, close to a purr. Bruce took the steps up slowly yet steadily, only halting to pick her dress up from where he had thrown it, and drape it over her naked body. Then he started laughing faintly. "I can't believe I was really caught by Alfred this time."

"Well, technically you didn't. We weren't having sex, yet."

"Valerie, you were writhing under me naked, my finger buried deep inside you. We were having sex."

"Never happened before?"

He gave her a look, "No."

"Don't worry. It's not like we've been particularly quiet before… I saw him with earplugs after we started—he was already hearing it—now he's got visuals too."

"What a comforting thought."

She grinned, and asked innocently, "Think he'd get off thinking of me?"

"Valerie—" he protested.

She giggled. "I'm sure Fox would though."

"Oh, god," Bruce murmured, sliding open their bedroom's door.

"Bed!"

He shook his head. "You're dirty."

"Yes, I am," she giggled even more. "Very."

He passed the bed towards the bathroom. Valerie cocked one eyebrow. "No. I mean you're literally dirty, covered with dirt. Look at your legs."

Valerie looked down. "Oh!" Then scowled—or at least she tried. "Look at yourself, you're not in any better condition."

"Yep," he agreed, "And that's why we need to share a shower."

"Bruce," Valerie whined, "don't wanna fuck…wanna sleep."

"Oddly enough," he quipped, walking to his enormous bathtub settled at the corner of the bathroom, and dropped her in. "Your wish is my command, my lady."

"Bruce," she drawled, draping her arms over the bathtub, and rested her chin at the edge, "you're quite a naughty boy too."

He took his clothes off and got in. "Nothing naughty. We're gonna relax, rest, and get clean in the meantime, and then we'll see about that third one." He turned the taps on, adjusting the hotness, and pulled her in his embrace. He rested his head on the soft headrest at the edge and Valerie rested hers on his shoulder. "You shall be indulged properly."

She twisted beside him. "But here is not cozy, not like the bed."

"I'm cozy enough," he pulled her on his lap, and settled her on his chest. "Better?"

"Much better," she sighed out. "You take good care of me, Bruce."

"I will always." His hands caressed her back. "You're okay, right?" He paused briefly. "We should have treated your back first. Those might turn ugly," he added as his fingertip lightly ran over the small bruises forming there.

She shuddered, hiding her face on his chest, and smiled. "Let them be, I love the bruises you give me."

He shook his head, and she giggled, her forefinger rising to point at his neck where she'd sucked wantonly. "You'll have one too."

"Let it be," he whispered against her ear. "I love the bruises you give me too."

She giggled again and snuggled further against his chest as he started to message her back, his hands crawling along her spin, not sexually, thank god, not sexually, or else she would probably ended up fainting again, but gently, compassionately, caring, and everything else. She closed her eyes, sighing deeply as he rubbed the base of her neck with his fingertips, then he pushed her down to get her hair wet and started massaging her scalp with one hand while the other poured the shampoo over her head.

Her eyes half closed, she hummed deep in her throat, and stirred on his lap as Bruce poured the bubble gel into the water then her eyes caught her bracelet—her bracelet! "Bruce—" She pulled up her left arm. "My bracelet, I forgot about it. Take it off."

He placed the bubble gel down at the edge, and reached out for her left wrist. "Okay, got it." He unfastened the bracelet, and placed it at the tub's wide edge next to the bottle.

Despite her utmost attention, the fake gold had already started fading and one of the stones decorating its length had already been dropped and plastered back on but even with its flaws, her bracelet was still the second most amazing thing she had ever seen. The first thing was the look he had given her while fastening it around her wrist, and that—and that alone was enough to make the trinket far more valuable to her than all the riches of this world and beyond.

"Bruce—"she called while his fingertips still caressed her wrist, "—how did you know you could trust me?"

He dropped her hand and touched her chin to lift her head up. "How did you know you could trust me when you called me from the warehouse?"

"I—didn't. I was—"

"You were hoping my help to you would mean something. I didn't know either, Valerie, and that was what trust is. You see something you think it's worth believing in, then you take a leap of faith, and hope it'll be enough—it'll work out for the best."

"I never thanked you for saving me."

"You don't need to."

She shook her head. "I do…so thank you. Thank you."

He bent down to brush his lips over hers, "You're more than welcome."

She rested her head on his chest once again, sighed out and closed her eyes.

Bruce rested his head at the headrest, and closed his.

x

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed understandably was Valerie, covering his face with a little kisses, countless bubbles over the surface hiding the rest of their bodies underneath.

He laughed, twisted his face to catch her lips. "Awake?"

"Yep," she whispered between kisses. "I'm up, recharged, and ready for that promised third one."

"Excellent," Bruce murmured, kissing her neck, his hands caressing her firm breasts under the water. He twisted his body to reach further below, and scowled. Apparently falling into sleep in the tub with Valerie draped over his body wasn't as good an idea as it had seemed. And since when had they had been sleeping anyway. His eyes slid to the left wall and he looked at the watch hung there. He drew in a breath. Three hours, three hours… "Baby, are you okay? We were asleep for three hours."

"Yep," she said again. "A little bit sore, but fine, you were very cozy."

"I'm glad, good thing that my body is accustomed to staying still over long periods of time," he said chuckling, and started to move.

"Yeah, you're practically perfect too."

He laughed. "Okay, let's move to the shower. We'll wash up, stretch our limbs then will see about my promise, okay?"

"Sounds fantastic," she responded eagerly, standing up. Bruce leaped out of the tub, and held his hand for her. She didn't take it, instead raised her arms in invitation.

"Valerie, my limbs are sore and you want me to carry you?"

She cocked one eyebrow. "What? You want _me_ to carry you?"

He shook his head. "So high-maintenance," he murmured before reaching out to take her in his embrace.

She wrapped herself around him. "Nonsense, you very much like taking care of me."

"And you don't like me to?" he asked back, lifting her up, and warned, "Hold tight."

She tightened her grip while Bruce walked toward the shower, drenching the floor with water. He slid the shower's door aside and dropped her inside. She backed toward the wall as he hopped in and turned the tap hot. She adjusted the shower head, and Bruce joined her under the waterfall. He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head and angled his head to kiss her.

Valerie responded eagerly like she always did, as the warm water poured down over their head. Bruce pressed her further against the wall in response, and kissed her even harder. "I can't believe we didn't do this before in the shower," she murmured, moving her lips to his jaw.

"Me neither," Bruce rasped before dropping on his knees in front of her. He lifted his head and looked at her, and gave her a wicked smirk, which made the throbbing between her legs pulse even harder. She slung her left leg over his shoulder as Bruce lowered his head to her crotch.

Two minutes later, she was falling apart again. With one hand she grabbed his free shoulder for balance while he undid her, as the other hand flew into the air to find something to hold on to, hold on for her dear life. Her hand touched on the shower's ledge, and she curled her fingers around it tightly.

God, she was about to come, and she was to about come soon enough, multiple ones…he wasn't going to back down, Bruce Wayne never backed down from any promises…Her hand went to his head and curled into his hair as she mumbled his name swooned, "Bruce—ahh-Bruce—"

He didn't respond, nor did he stop what he was doing, in fact he picked up his speed, and the hand that had been running over her upper body crawled to her hips to steady her in the position. She squirmed harder, as his other hand kept what they were doing together with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

Then her leg couldn't support her anymore, and she slid onto the shower's floor. Bruce slid with her, somehow even managing not to break contact as he twisted his body to accommodate her, kneeling before her, and dove even deeper with the new angle.

Then screaming his name, she came.

Bruce lay next to her on the tiles. He touched her cheek, running his fingers along her lips as she panted, eyes glistening, water running over her body, and she looked like a mystical wanton demon-angel once again, his own personal goddess, his damnation and salvation.

He pulled her into his embrace, kissed her shoulder, as his grip tightened. "So beautiful, you're so beautiful, baby, it's gonna kill me one day," he whispered into her ear.

Still trembling, she clutched him even tighter. "Bruce—" she breathed out, "Bruce, fuck me again—I want you, need to feel you inside…want to be yours…"

"Valerie—" he murmured her name like it was his prayer, "Valerie…mine…you're mine, and I'm yours." He picked her up and stood. He dropped her on her feet then circled one arm around her neck to pull her closer. He bent down his head, she lifted hers up, and they kissed, kissed, kissed…

"Mirror…" she whimpered, "Bruce—want to watch you—want to watch us..."

His insides roared, his blood flamed. He turned the tap off, and cradled her against his chest. He walked out of the shower and returned to bedroom. He put her on her feet in front of the long mirror in the corner of the room and rested her back against the wall. His fingertips ran over the valley of her breasts to her navel. "Look at yourself."

Valerie whimpered, trembling with the motions of the fingers on her body. She breathed roughly as his hands went south, lost between her folds, then crawled upward, found her clit. He started to move his finger side to side with a rough and fast rhythm pressing on her roughly.

She dropped her head back against the wall, groaning loudly. He pulled her head back up. "No—look at yourself…beautiful…" He grated and twisted his head to catch her eyes in the mirror. Their gazes locked. He picked up his pace, "Beautiful… love, come, come now, you'll come again soon—"

Suddenly she tensed as her lower body contracted, and she groaned, trembling with a mini orgasm. Bruce didn't slow his pace, instead he kept going, and forty seconds later she went tense and peaked again, and had another small one, trembling, Bruce held her by her waist to steady her, their eyes still watching each other as he continued giving her multiple small orgasms one after another.

After the fifth one, shuddering she finally gave in, and began sliding down the wall. Bruce caught her before she hit the floor, and pulled her up. She coiled her arms around his neck, rested her head on his shoulders and looked at their reflection in the mirror again. Bruce twisted his body once again to find the mirror, his fingers still keep going on her, "We—ahhh—so—ah—" she gnawed her lips, words shifting to groans, as Bruce fastened his hand into her wet hair, breathing her scent in deeply. "Ahh—beautiful…Bruce-so beautiful…we are…beaut—" Another one hit her hard and stole the rest of her words away. Then she couldn't take it anymore. "Bruce…please, inside…no more… want you inside me—please."

"Stay here, don't move," he pushed her back to wall and went toward the wardrobe. He opened it and took out a pair of shoes, and turned back to her. Her knelt in front her, and slid them on her feet. He brushed his fingers on her skin then put her foot on his shoulder. She trembled as he kissed the inner side of her ankle. "Baby, can't stay in them…not now."

His hand tightened around her ankle as he lifted his head. "I won't let you fall, ever." He let her ankle go and stood up. "Trust me."

"Trust none but you," she panted out, wrapping her arms around him tightly as he curled her leg around his waist.

"Dance with me," he rasped, sliding in, his voice so thick and hoarse, so hot, so demanding, so…him… She raised her eyes to the mirror and looked at their reflection. A wild turmoil of sensations ran in her veins like liquid fire, and twisting his head back, he caught her gaze. He began to move, not moving his eyes away, thrusting in her. Her mouth opened a little as she eased out a groan, and she saw her teeth as she bit her bottom lip… She looked at herself mesmerized as the intensity in Bruce's eyes flared, savage and lost, and she felt like burning… she was burned by it, she could die because of it…and she could die gladly.

"Tell me—" Bruce demanded with each thrust, "Tell me—how it feels—talk to me."

She turned her eyes back to him, her body rocking along him, "Full—" She groaned as he moved his hips to a new angle and for a second, she couldn't speak, "—of you; every inch of me fulfilled and loved… feels like flying on ecstasy…floating on another plane… like I tasted Ambrosia…and became a goddess…"

Bruce leaned down, kissed the front of her neck, then lowered his head down, kissed her breasts, and whispered just above her heart, "Because you're…you're…my goddess…"

She closed her eyes and let herself get lost…lost in him—the senses he made her feel. The incorporeal bond between their bodies grew abstract, like she was becoming more and more bound to him with every thrust, each contact burning his mark even deeper. Still, he needed to be deeper, full contact… Full contact until the last inch, sharing each other's pulse on every inch of skin, until it seemed like the entire universe was branded on each other, blending together... "Bruce—" she mumbled, "deeper… deeper… need you deeper-"

Wordless he obliged, lifted the leg around his waist and propped it on his shoulder. Within an instant, he dove deeper, sheathed himself to the hilt and she cried out in response, her arms fell from his neck to catch him on his waist. Bruce caught her ankle on his shoulder to support her. "Bruce," she whispered in his ear, "hold me tightly and fuck me hard, make me forget everything but you," her hands pulled him closer, full contact, every space, every inch, "only you—no one else but you…"

Then he did, he fucked her hard, really hard, like her life depended on it, like if he stopped she would die because of it. Somewhere between wails and screams, she managed to utter, "How-how—feel—inside me?"

"Enthralling…like a miracle… and when you clutch me, tightening your arms around me," she tightened her arms, and pulled him even closer… "-and hold onto me as if your life depends on it—as if I let you go, you couldn't live without me…" Their hands met and folded through each other. "-feel like needed…all of me… completely and wholly… every single fiber of my being… wanted…needed…loved…because it's me…completely and wholly me…all of me… no one else but me…"

She closed her eyes, and felt like bursting…bursting open…once more with feelings…then she found herself on the floor pressed under him, wrapped around him. She didn't know who triggered the action first, and she didn't care either. She was where she belonged.

x

With the last ounce of her reserves Valerie rolled herself over and mounted half of his body. He caressed her hair then kissed it, his lips getting wet and foamy. "We have to take another shower—" he panted, his voice was still rough and raucous.

"Hmm…"she hummed, "can't… too tired, can't even move a limb."

"Your hair is still foamy, baby, need to rinse it out."

She shook her shoulders on his body. "Let it be soapy… don't care."

"Yeah sure," he said putting his arms under her knees to pick her up. "If I let you sleep like this, tomorrow morning I won't hear the end of it."

"Bruce—" she whined as her body lifted off of the floor. "Not a word, promise."

"Nah, you're turning back to shower."

"Is there a particular reason why you want to see me in the shower that much?"

He laughed. "Nothing dirty. Just a quick shower, then we'll get the sleep we deserve."

"Ah—" she sighed deeply as Bruce walked over the threshold of the bathroom, "but we do deserve it, don't we?"

He laughed again. "Yeah, yeah, we did pretty damn good," he replied giving her a dirty smile.

"Good?" she laughed back, shaking her head. "It was epic."

Suddenly a cloud came over his face and he scowled but his expression turned back to normal quickly. Valerie scowled. "What was that?"

He gave her a blank look as he dropped her in the shower. She gave him a look in response while resting her back against the shower's tiles, and kept looking at him decisively as he hopped into shower too. "What was that, Bruce? You had a thought there, about us, something you didn't like. What was it?" Fear sparkled in her eyes for a second and she halted before asking hesitantly. "Didn't you think it was—epic?"

Turning the tap on, he sighed. "It was more than epic, Valerie." He took the sponge from the shower's ledge and poured the body gel over it. "I was just wondering why every plan concerning us blows up in my face."

"Blown up?" Her eyes narrowed as sponge started to trail over her body. "This is what you call a blow up?"

Bruce pulled her off of the wall to scrub her back. She leaned on him, resting her head between his chest and shoulder while his other hand grabbed her arm to steady her. The bubbled sponge brushed softly across her bruised skin. "Valerie, we need to make things less intense. We need to find a balance…and this—"His hand halted for a second, "—as epic as it was, wasn't a good way to achieve it."

Valerie sighed too. "Yeah…welcome to my life," she mumbled and looked down as Bruce slid down in front of her, scrubbing her legs. "Everything I've ever planned since the day I met you blows up in my face. I think I jinxed you too."

Bruce gave her a look, and she shrugged. She rested her head on the shower's tiles, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. "But it's logical." She let out a weary laugh, "Let's face it, we're pretty much fucked-up, and since we get involved, we've piled our shit on each other and have become fucked-up squared, hence—" She waved her hands back and forth. "—this," she finished as he treated her other leg. She probably should have stopped him, but she wondered why _he_ wasn't stopping himself since he was the one talking about getting intense. Sponging your girlfriend after mind blowing festivities—couldn't be a daily occurrence for couples, or could it be? She sighed again. This real dating business was complicated. "Don't worry, Bruce. You still keep up better than me."

"No, no, I don't." He stood up, threw the sponge back on the ledge and looked at her. "Was it like that for you before…with him?"

Valerie looked back in response, water running over her, frozen. Was it like that? The first time she had sex with Michael she had thought she was going to die, her heart was going to burst open out of its cage, break free, and fly away, but it had passed, faded away… No, no, it wasn't like that, it wasn't like that; like she had _already_ died and went to another place, a better place, a happier place—a place that consisted of only them.

"It was..." she said slowly, turning her gaze away. "—different, I wasn't this…fucked up before…It was still possible to have things close to—simple. I was trying, Bruce, we both were, and I wasn't the only one who was kidding herself. When he asked me to come with him, I—I said I couldn't make him happy, I couldn't make anyone happy, and you know what he said? He said, 'Then may we be unhappy', he said, 'Let us be unhappy.'"

He cupped her cheek. "You make me very happy."

"You make me very happy too, Bruce."

He smiled, pushed her back to under water jet, and joined her there. He started to wash her hair as she curled her arms around his waist, looking up at him, her chin resting on his chest. She closed her eyes as the water ran over them, and smiled wide as Bruce's fingers ran through her hair.

She pushed them away. "We'll manage to find something," she reassured him, her tone decisive. "We just need to work on it a little bit harder."

"We will."

She remained silent then let out a deep sigh as he backed off and continued rinsing her hair. "We will manage it," she repeated, then giggled faintly. "Look at us now, you're all over me, and we still haven't fucked ourselves senseless, I say that's progress, right?"

He laughed back and gave her nose a quick kiss. "Definitely progress." He turned the tap off. "And it shall remain as such." He curled his arms under her hips and lifted her up a few inches.

She giggled again, hanging her arms over his shoulders as he climbed out of shower. He dropped her on her feet, and turned to pull out a big towel from the closet and wrap it around her body. He coiled another one around her hair, then put the third one around himself and picked her up again.

He carried her back to the bedroom and settled her on the cozy stool in front of her dressing table. He started to pat her dry with towel. Her hand reached out to touch his cheek in a gentle motion. "Let's go to the bed, darling."

He shook his head. "We need to dry your hair first. It's getting cold, you might catch a chill."

"I'll be fine, stop fussing over me."

He untied the towel from her head. "Someone has to." He gave her another quick kiss on the top of her head. She rolled her eyes in response. "I've known it since the moment I saw you in the warehouse."

She sighed out. "I was such a mess, wasn't I?" she asked laughing softly.

"You were worse—"

Valerie sniffed. "I'd appreciate it more if you said I wasn't."

"You almost gave me a heart attack. When I saw you on the couch—passed out, bloodied, and bruised, covered only with the coats, nothing underneath—"

"Bruce, you noticed!" she exclaimed.

"Valerie, you picked up your panties before my eyes, how could I not?"

She gave up another sigh. "Must have thought I was nuts. There was a shower in the administration office, I took one before I called you. The car had flown into the river bed. I was soaking wet, frozen to my bones."

"There was a good three miles between the accident and the warehouse."

She lifted up a shoulder. "Yeah."

"You walked all the way?" She shrugged again. "I wish you'd called me from the start, baby."

"Yeah, that would've been wonderful, if I managed to start a fire and send smoke signals in the manor's direction." She rolled her eyes. "I was kidnapped, Bruce, kidnappers don't give their guests cell phones. I didn't have one anyway."

"You didn't?"

"Untraceable lines mean money and connections, things I didn't have. And making calls with Danny's cell didn't seem like a good idea. Besides I wasn't even thinking about calling you then." Bruce sighed. "I deal with one problem at a time. My priority was to find a shelter first and patch myself back together."

"So you slipped into a warehouse, stripped down naked, took a shower then went through your plans, and finally decided to call me?" With another sigh, he shook his head. "You even made up your mind about the operation before you called me, didn't you?"

She tilted her head back up again to find his gaze. "Bruce, I called you because I didn't want to comprise your identity. I can't say I cared about your—your quest at those times, but I didn't want to be the one who rained on your parade. I didn't lie to you when I said I wasn't going to go to the mob if you'd refused me that night. I was really going to try my chances, but I was very well aware that they were pitifully low. Someone, sooner or later, was going to catch me." She lowered her head again.

"Truthfully I don't know what I'd have done in that scenario, but I know that I didn't want to find out. What you did for me that day… I really thought I was going to die, Bruce, and that was the end for me…When I put a foot outside the car and saw you there… sitting in the middle of all that damage, looking at me… I didn't understand at first, but I guess I was feeling grateful to you, feeling in your debt—"She let out a faint laugh. "Normally people want to see me dead after getting to know me better, not rush to save me, risking their own neck." She paused a second. "Do you know in ancient times when you saved someone's life, the person you saved had to spend the rest of their life with them until the rescuer decides that his debts are paid, because once you save a life, that life belongs to you." She sighed. "Luckily we don't live in ancient times or else I would have had to spend the rest of my life in servitude to pay my debt to you."

"You're in no debt to me, Valerie. You don't get to acquire a life once you save it; you just become responsible for it."

A slow smile appeared on her lips as she tilted her head again to look at him warmly, eyes sparkling with affection, and with…admiration. "You are a good man, Bruce Wayne, it's the way you are."

Bruce smiled back at her in response, leaning forward to kiss her hairline and let the silence speak for him. She sighed again as he picked up the comb from the dressing table and started to comb out her hair. She leaned back against his stomach as he worked out the knots. Half of a moment later, she tossed back her head a little bit on his stomach and lifted her eyes back up at him. "Hmm…this is good, I wouldn't have guessed it. Cathleen used to pull my hair while she was combing, it hurt. You're doing it so nice." She paused then asked, trying to sound causal, "Your mother used to do that for you?"

His hands haltered only a millisecond before he resumed his movements. "Yeah, every day before I went to primary school."

"Did it hurt too?"

"No, she was very gentle." She smiled kindly at him, and held his hand at the angle of her shoulder.

"You're very lucky to have parents like them, and they were very lucky to have a child like you."

He squeezed her hand. She smiled warmly, and her other hand went to pick up the remote control of the iPod and started to play with songs. Settling on one, she dropped it down to the loop. The familiar raw, powerful, beating, taunting notes filled the room. _Oh dear sweet mama… I'm not feeling well… Can I step out… for a little while…_

Bruce smiled at her choice of song as she stood up and turned around to hug him. "Do I really make you happy?" she asked.

"Very," Bruce whispered and caught her hands at his waist, pulled them down, and passed his fingers through hers. He started dragging her slowly to the bed, half dancing half swaying…_ Oh dearest young man...teach me sweetheart...how to love you..._

She lifted her head up and raised on her tiptoes, her lips trailing down under his jaw… then towards his lips… The music became more haunting, more pleading, more other worldly as it raised an octave and reached its crescendo…They gazed at each other, he pulled her closer and unwound the towel from her body as she eased his off of his waist, and he bent down and caught her lips in a slow kiss, tender but intimate, pulling her down to the bed.

They didn't make love, just stayed in their embrace, drifting into a peaceful sleep. Then Bruce knew she was already saying those words in hundreds of different ways, but never in words…no…it wasn't the way they talked…but they were still going to say it anyway.

* * *

_The title for this part comes from PJ Harvey's amazing song, Ecstasy, and the lyrics at the end belong to It's You by her, which are both songs simply for Bruce and Valerie, if you ask me :)_

_The part with Valerie's bracelet is based on Cleo the Muse's beautiful beyond words story, Weather Patterns. While I was thinking about what Bruce could gift Valerie for her first 'birthday', it came to me, and I think nothing would suit better._

_I hope you enjoyed this almost standalone episode, because I really had to do it, if for nothing else, then to explain things that happened in Contact better._


	23. Lay Your Burdens Down - Part I

_Okay, as you can see from the title, I'm continuing with the private lives of my characters; because the background around them is 'a mere backdrop against which their private lives are played out.'_

_So a little bit private life, a little bit background, and let's not forget the plot too :)_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: Lay Your Burdens Down**

**Part One**

Bruce definitely wasn't as cozy as she had first believed. With a sigh, she raised her hands up, locked them at wrist above her head and stretched her arms moving right and left to ease her stiffened muscles. She lowered her arms rubbing her neck and then stretched her back.

"Still sore?" Bruce asked from behind her, his arms curled around her waist. The sneaking up behind her thing was tiresome but Valerie couldn't raise any objections as his lips brushed over her shoulders where she had just rubbed.

"If I say yes, do I get a free massage?"

"You can get a free massage whatever the answer is, baby," he answered nibbling her skin.

"Yeah, I am sore, sore and tired—But," she pulled herself out of his embrace and turned around on her seat to face him, "we need to look at these records now. I sorted all of them but they were mostly in Russian so—" She waved her hand at him, "Those are yours. And I'll start on Dimitrov."

"I will," Bruce agreed. "But don't start on the Russian yet—"

"If you're gonna tell me to check Tomah's records again, forget it," she exclaimed, "I've already done it countless times!"

Bruce gave her an amused look, and shook his head. "Nope, I was going to say—"

"Not another tape assignment, I hate those," she whined, bowing her head.

"Valerie, I was going to say it's Sunday, take a day off."

Her head snapped back to him, and she narrowed her eyes. "You're not going to send me another girl's night out, are you?" She paused, "Oh, god, you're going to send me on a girl's night out with Leslie! No, Bruce, I already said—"

"Valerie, will you shut up?"

"What are you playing at, Bruce Wayne?"

"First, Valerie, there will be no girl's night out for you in the near future; I'm still trying to get over your first one." He gave her a look as she narrowed her eyes further. "Second, I wasn't going to suggest anyone. Well, truthfully, I was going to suggest myself. Would you like go to a date with me tonight?"

"A date?" she arched one eyebrow. "Bruce, are you okay? We're already—uh dating." She paused, "I guess. I mean, I'm your girlfriend, right?"

"Yes, of course you are, but we don't date, we have never dated. The only time we came close to dating was that night at Bernie's before you swirled us into a frenzy. We're together; we're sleeping together, we're living together, but, Valerie, we are not dating."

She bit her lip, and Bruce could see the calculations going through her mind. "So this is the new plan? Us dating?"

He nodded seriously. "Yes."

"We will do ordinary things like other people and will go dates too?"

"Yes, I think Sundays are the most suitable options for such occasions."

"Bruce, really," she then laughed. "You really sit down and think about it, and make plans, right?"

He took a step forward, and for a moment the intensity of his gaze threw Valerie off. Normally that kind of look was reserved for when she was squirming beyond hope under him. "Valerie, I'm not going to lose you because of our insecurities and fuck-ups. You'd better accept it soon."

She shook her head. "Lose me? Bruce, _who_ you were fucking last night? Did it look like I can run away? Been there, done that," she added with a small voice, "got the scars."

He took another step, looked straight at her eyes. "I will never let you poison yourself again either. We'll find a balance."

She nodded. "Yes, okay, you're right, this _is_ a good plan. So what did you think? Where you're taking me? Dancing?" She gave him a smile. "Perhaps we should go to Bernie's, I kind of missed Not-Bernie."

"Later," Bruce answered. "Tonight I'll take you to a movie."

"A movie night?" she squeaked with delight, and circled her arms around his neck. "We're having a movie night?"

"Yes. And drop all the labels too." He gave her a look. "Simple. We'll have a normal date. No paparazzi trailing us."

"You'll be undercover?"

"Yes."

"Bruce, did I ever tell you how weird it is planning a simple date with you?"

"No."

"All right then, I'm doing it. It's totally weirdo, the last page stuff. People dress up for dates, and we dress down."

He moved his head, and touched on her forehead with his, "And don't you like it?"

"Like it? Darling, I adore it!" Bruce's lips twisted up in a smile, and she smiled back. "Sooo…just to be sure. Our date will consist of flirting, double talking, suggestively baiting that will be culminated in a night of passion?"

"We've already done that, a lot," Bruce said shaking his head, his smile still tugging at the corner of his lips, "Frequently, even before we were involved. And we'll lessen the aspect of passion a little bit down for tonight."

She huffed. "Then it'll be boring."

"I'll buy you popcorn, and you will decide on the film."

"Can I pick an erotica?"

He smirked. "If you can find one."

"Oh, I will." She smirked back then scowled. "You said we were flirting even before we were involved."

"Yes, we were."

"No, we were _not_. I was flirting with you, but you never returned the gesture."

"I did not?" Bruce asked incredulous, pulling himself an inch to give her a look. "Valerie, seriously, sometimes I wonder how you managed to make all those people into fools for you—"

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" she shot back.

A very pleased smiled appeared on his lips. "Then it's really about me, isn't it? You really thought I wasn't interested in you."

Her expression changed from pissed off to vulnerable in the blink of an eye, but then her face turned to neutral. "No, I know you were interested, I mean your body was interested; I could see—I could read the signs; you were giving me looks when you didn't realize, or thought I wasn't looking, and your body reacted when we were close. When you got me pinned under you during our lessons, you weren't rubbing on me or doing anything inappropriate but I felt your hardness, and thank god I did, cause if I hadn't, I'd have gone probably wacko." She laughed. "But I was hitting on you like mad and you were brushing me off like nothing. I couldn't understand it."

"No one ever said no to you before?"

She lifted a shoulder. "People usually want to see me in bed, whatever I do to them, even when they don't want it. It was—confusing. Then you started to show your—interest a little bit more after I confessed about what happened—" She trailed off.

"But you were still keeping yourself estranged and all those feelings, then my nightmares… It was so much, and I couldn't interpret, couldn't understand, didn't even want to…so I ignored it all, it was easier. Then Selina happened, I got—drifted away. I was aware of your, uh, raising interest and frustration, but you were still holding on to your reserves and I still couldn't—get and I let it go. And I never let anything go by, that isn't me; I provoke, poke, prod but never let things go so that was even more confusing. Then you broke suddenly, and kissed me that night. And all I could think was finally. Then you refused me again and tore me into little shreds."

"You tore me too," he whispered.

She bowed her head. "You hurt me. I swore no one was going to hurt me again, and you hurt me. I wanted to hurt you back."

"I'm sorry, but I didn't believe you were interested in anything more than sex." She lifted her eyes at him. "Don't give me that look, Valerie, how could I have known it when you didn't even know it yourself?"

She shrugged. "I don't know…you always have a way to see right through me." He pulled her closer to him and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I was really hoping your spell on me would have been broken if I got you in bed."

"That was what I was afraid of, Valerie. Losing you that way. I take you to my bed, we have sex, then the next morning you'd decide that I wasn't—interesting enough for you anymore."

"So you kept dangling the carrot in front of me all that time," she sighed, "Ironic isn't it that plan almost cost you me too."

He sighed. "We really blow up our plans for each other, baby."

"What did you do that night, Bruce? The hall was trashed, your hand was in bandages. How did you hurt it?"

"I pounded the wall first, and when I started to trash the hall, Alfred came to stop me. I almost hit him. If he ducked a second later, I probably would have broken his nose."

"Bruce—"

"I really thought I lost you, Val."

"I didn't think I was going to come back either. But, oddly enough I'm glad it happened. I can't say if I might have stayed or left if you had given in, Bruce but I'm glad I stayed for something not related to sex. I stayed because it was what was good for me, and for the first time in my life, instead of running away I chose to stay."

"You stayed at the motel too."

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" She sighed again. "We're both idiots."

"I guess."

Her finger poked him on the chest. "Okay, then, why were you still refusing me after I came back?"

"Valerie, isn't it obvious? You needed my friendship, the companionship you found in me more than a quick roll in the sheets."

"I needed that too, Bruce."

"And we did, baby, when I believed it was the time. But you put me through hell for months, Val, so excuse my reservations. And I'm sorry but before I gave in I needed to be sure that I wasn't just another notch on your bed."

"Yeah, that would certainly wound your over boosted ego," she snickered. "You played with me from the beginning."

"Valerie, if I hadn't, I don't even want to think about where we would be now. Nothing else, no one else could have handled you."

"I'm really starting to regret saying those words, you know."

He dropped his head into the angle of her neck. "I can imagine," he muttered, kissing her.

"And just as she starts to get pesky once again, he starts working on her, and soothes her feathers, and soon she begs him to fuck her." She sighed, but didn't try to push out of his embrace. "You're so manipulative."

Bruce stayed silent for a while then causally said, "No one else could have piqued your interest for this long," he paused for a breath, "how about this?"

"Hmm…better," she agreed on. "So after I came back, you started to flirt with me?"

He lifted his head up. "Valerie, please, don't expect me to believe that you didn't notice."

She smiled, lips pulling with delight. "Well, I did but I want to hear it from you. Accept it. You were flirting with me."

"Yes," he grunted out faintly.

Her smile grew wider, "So when you were bringing my sandwiches, you were flirting with me."

"Yes."

"When you brought my pills?"

"Yes."

"When you tried to instruct me—"

"Yes."

"When you were giving those looks, when I sprawled out—"

"God, yes, woman, I was flirting with you all time, and wanted to do nothing but throw you over my shoulders and have you six ways from Sunday. Are you happy now?"

Her smile was like the cat had just swallowed the canary, and got another one for the desert. "Oh, yes, definitely happier. I was wondering about that."

"I'm relieved."

"Bruce," she exclaimed laughing, "you put me through hell too." A definite kind of hell, where nights had passed burning in a carnal frenzy that couldn't be satisfied by anything but him, missing something you hadn't even had yet. "I think I deserve to know that. You can't believe how many nights I spent trying to decide if you were in the closet, or asexual—"

"Thought they were yet to be a problem for you," Bruce shot back.

She glowered. "Or you're just—you know, no one has really refused me before, even when they find me a scheming, backstabbing, vain bitch, people still want to get me to bed, understandably." She paused to give him a smug smile. "So I had to assume the reason you were refusing my advances had nothing to do with me, and more to do with why you drive sports car, date movie stars, supermodels, escorts and then return them home untouched, not to mention riding that tank that fires freaking missiles… Because you have a deep-seated need to overcompensate your other shortcomings."

Her smile grew wider. She leaned on him as Bruce's face soured, and she rubbed herself over his crotch, where the blessed proof of her theory being all wrong, poked at her. "You wouldn't imagine how relieved I was when I felt little Bruce seeking some attention when you had me pinned under you the first time."

He pulled her closer roughly, then pushed her back into the wall trapping her between it and his body, his proof poking her even harder. "You just can't resist, can you?"

She shook her head. "Nope," she breathed out as he bit her shoulder. "Especially when it gets you to go all caveman on me—"

He pulled back, and schooled his expression until the lustful look disappeared. He took a breath, and then another, and said slowly, "No, not this time. We're going to have to wait—"

"But, Bruce, I—"

"Valerie."

"Don't wanna wait, you made me wait enough."

He decided to change his approach, and softened his voice as his fingers brushed her bangs off gently. "Baby, please," he looked at her, "don't ruin my plans."

She pulled back from the wall, hugged him around the waist, and rested her head on his chest. "We must be doing something profoundly wrong somewhere, Bruce. We want to be like a normal couple, but in traditional girlfriend-boyfriend relationships the male participants have to be nagging. You never nag me."

"I do, all the time."

"No, you don't. I always nudge you."

"Valerie, you withheld yourself for a couple of days, and I ended up begging you."

"Oh," she said, "I forgot that."

"I didn't."

She didn't answer so Bruce asked with an apparent fright in his voice. "Valerie, you wouldn't hold yourself back to make me…nag you, would you?"

"You have to admit, the thought has a certain appeal." He sighed. "But no, don't worry," she took a step back, and smiled. "I won't." She brushed her fingers over his shirt. "But you're all dressed up now, where are you going?"

"I have to go to Rupert's brunch—"

Suddenly she perked up, and pushed herself out of his embrace. "I'm getting turned down because of that lunatic family's party?"

"Rupert invited me personally. And the press will be there to cover it. The foundation needs it, needs me to make an appearance."

She scowled. "Selina will be there too?"

His expression closed off. "I don't know."

"Take me with you."

"Valerie, no, we've talked about that before, and you told yourself too. You need to lie low."

"I don't like it," she grunted under her breath.

"Neither do I." He pulled her into his embrace again. "I'm gonna be bored out of my mind without your charming company."

She rolled her eyes, shook her head slightly. "Always knows what to say to move her, my idiot." She puffed out a big sigh. "What—what the hell am I going to do with you, Bruce Wayne?"

He drew her closer. "Whatever you want, whatever you want, Valerie."

* * *

Dearest, loveliest, ever resourceful, Thomas; performing nothing less than miracles when he was cornered well enough. He hadn't called, but on Sunday morning Selina waited for him nevertheless, wearing the whitest dress she had, with a white hair band adorning her head. And she wasn't surprised not for a bit when her door chirped once at the eleven in the morning.

God, the racketeering guy was going to love this, when he heard about it.

She pressed her finger on the comm., saw his features on the tiny screen. She leaned forward to the speaker, and greeted him sweetly. "Good morning, dearie."

"Are you ready, witch?"

She smiled. "Absolutely."

They didn't talk inside the limo, he didn't attempt small talk of course, and she didn't ask how he had persuaded Rupert, instead she watched Sunday morning through the window, smiling at a city slowly waking up. A blonde girl barely in her twenties was walking her dog; practically running to match the pace of the dog, one hand holding a bag, and a bagel clutched under her arm. Selina wondered if her boyfriend was at home waiting for her to bring him a late breakfast. She smoothed out some inexistent wrinkles on her dress, and lifted her head up. The girl was already lost behind them.

Outside the city was waking up, but inside the car all was silence of the night.

Elliot Manor was how she remembered it; big, spacious, reeking of wealth and vanity and stomach lurching, and she held her smile as she crossed its border, draped over Thomas's arm. Rupert cast her half of a glance, and her smile turned coy, Melina looked expressionless, and Rupert snapped his head to other side. "Ah," the word poured out of her lips in delight, as she leaned into Thomas's ear, "The good ol' days. Some things never change."

He pulled his arm out of her clutches, glared at her, and turned to leave.

She laughed at his back; that certainly brought back memories. Then her attention shifted to the left, where Melina was approaching. "Selina, I don't know what you're planning and I don't care. Just remember to behave."

She nodded dismissively. "How did you get Thomas to work on your case? He—he inquired—he inquired to Rupert to let you come today."

She drew in a sharp, mocking breath, and titled her head. "Did he beg?"

"He said you begged," Melina shot back.

She took a step forward and whispered into Melina's ear, "Do I look like I'm begging?"

"Selina," Melina started, "play nice. Rupert's accepted you once again. Don't disappoint him."

"I guess that's Thomas' specialty, mother."

Melina clutched her on the upper arm, and looked at her seriously. "Listen to me. Play this chance well. Family matters."

"Oh, really?" She arched one eyebrow. "Just a curiosity, Melina, what were you doing while Thomas was making a case for me?"

Melina looked at her dumbfounded for a second, and letting out a throaty laugh she strode away from her. She approached the buffet, took a canapé and threw it into her mouth. Then across the buffet, at the farthest corner of the room she saw him.

Causally resting against the corner of the satin walls, his lips were drawn into a lazy smile as he talked with a company of three; two women and one man. She squeezed her eyes to see their profiles, and recognized one of the women—a patented gold digger. Her gaze traveled around the room to search for his other significant half, and when she didn't see Valerie anywhere, her smile grew bigger, almost endearing. Of course.

She sauntered toward them and stood just to his side while the trust-fund-leech cooed, "So…Bruce," she paused batting her eyelash, "you came alone?"

Bruce eyes found hers, and he stood motionless for a moment, hard and cold, then in the next instant he was back to his playboy act. Selina looked at him in amusement, the act—the look, his posture, the drawl—they were all flawless. "Yeah, Vii doesn't like waking up early in mornings."

Selina laughed, getting between them. "Wear her out at night?"

Bruce glowered at her for a second before his careless attitude snapped back again, and she smiled wider, while the girls giggled, and the man; a wannabe Casanova; forced his lips into a smile as he tried to hide his jealousy. "She never complains."

"I imagine."

They looked at each other for a moment then she noticed Thomas's glare across of the room, directed at them at full-scale. She took another step forward, her eyes fixed on Thomas. She half turned to the others and asked bluntly, "Can I talk with Bruce privately?"

Two women and one man looked at her, eyes widened, "Thank you," she went on, looking at them commandingly. Shaking their stupor off, they started to walk away.

"What do you want, Selina?" Bruce scowled immediately after they were left alone.

"Are you here to witness my triumph?" she asked back sweetly.

"You don't need an audience."

She leaned forward. "Oh, I beg to differ."

In tense silence he shot her another glare, which she responded with a mocking laugh. "Tell me, Bruce, where is my dear former partner? Left the untamed princess locked in her bedchamber?"

Suddenly he took several steps and grabbed her elbow tightly. "Leave her alone," he hissed. Across the room, she saw Thomas's glare harden, and ignoring the pain, she smiled even further, and responded cheerfully.

"I already did." She got closer too, her breath brushed over his ear. "My interest has been piqued by something—else." There was no way to take her pointed look in other way. He gave her another glare, and in response she tilted her head. "Remember our meeting?"

"Yes."

"You were all mumbling, apologizing—"

He cut her off. "And you told me to stop talking."

"I did," she said with a half- laugh, half-sigh. "Didn't I?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to know a secret of mine, Bruce—"She leaned even closer, and there was no mockery now in her smile. "If I'd seen how you'd turn out, I'd have never let you go."

Taken aback, he stared at her and then turned on his heels and walked away. She watched his retreating back and threw another canapé into her mouth. Today it seemed everyone was turning their back on her. Interesting.

Bruce stopped beside the Mustache, and Rupert greeted him with a warm smile, one of those Selina never saw within their company, and the reason of Bruce attendance became more apparent. Those two had become so philanthropic and Rupert must have quite loved the delusional stupidity. Of course.

Thomas appeared beside her suddenly, grabbed her elbow. This time she pulled it back and sent him a glower. "What are you pulling with Wayne?"

For now, nothing, but that was going to change soon. Very soon. She gave Thomas a pitiful look and a little shake of head before turned it away. "Do you have any idea what kind of trouble I had to go through to get you invited here today?"

Her head snapped back to him. "Do I look like I'm interested in your troubles?"

He closed in on her. "If you are—"

"Thomas," she cut him off. "You're getting paranoid. I don't scheme about your demise non-stop." Her smile was a mock of gentility. "I'm a good Catholic, I take Sundays off."

x

"Selina," Holly greeted her as soon as she walked into the apartment, bursting with energy. "He called!"

"Did he?" she asked back, laughing. Holly nodded eagerly, she checked her watch. "My, not wasting any time."

"He asked about Bruce Wayne."

"Oh," she dropped herself on the armchair and threw her shoes away. "What did you say?"

Holly gave her a wicked smile, mixed with an effortless innocence that was just so—Holly. "That he came to see you a couple of days ago."

Selina smiled wider, leaning back. "So…how was the party?" asked the young Ukrainian.

"It was—" She paused to search for a word...how was it really? "It was—educational, Holly."

* * *

Donnie, short for Donald, Meyers, the former chauffer of Andrei, held himself motionless in the distinctive black car and watched another black car on the far side of the street. He wondered briefly if Alex was aware that he was being spied on. The hunter became the hunted and all that jazz. Disturbed with that thought, he rolled down the window open, pulled a Marlboro out of the glove department and lit it.

Needed to be careful these days, all the time.

He puffed a big breath of smoke out of the window and looked at the man he was watching over. It was interesting, he seemed to keep his distance, he couldn't even pinpoint the exact point he was interested in. He seemed to be watching over the entire fucking neighborhood.

The man started to move away, black Audi heading north smoothly at a moderate pace. He circled the surrounding blocks a few times then returned to his point of origin and started to head south.

They moved through the back streets of the city, in and out, constantly driving but never stopping. In the end he was back in front of Molten.

Donnie stayed behind for ten minutes then followed the other man's example and parked beside his car.

"Andrei, is he available?" he asked bypassing the bodyguard at the door.

The bulky man nodded. "Yes, in his study, with Dahlia."

He nodded back. "Alex?"

"He just came in and went to his room."

He trotted hastily toward Andrei's study. He knocked once and entered upon hearing Andrei's soft permission.

He stood in the middle of the room, Andrei didn't make a gesture for him to sit down and he didn't move to. He wasn't yet permitted to sit in front of their king.

Andrei looked at him questioningly. "He circled around the East Side blocks but didn't stay anywhere long enough to pinpoint the exact location."

"See anyone?"

"No," Donnie replied slowly then pinched his nose in thought. "But I—I believe he's after someone, boss. He's tracking someone."

Andrei nodded then dismissed him with the back of his hand.

Donnie dutifully retreated, his mind already sparking with the possibilities. If…Andrei's precious…if his hand was betraying him…then Andrei would need another one.

A smile blossomed on his lips and remained there the whole day.

Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

Instead of going to Gotham AMC Theatres, Bruce decided to keep a really low profile, and chose the small movie complex in the suburbs. Standing in front of the complex they looked at the movie posters hanging on the veneer. Valerie pointed her finger at the first one. "This one."

One look at the poster was enough. "No," he said sternly.

She laughed out. "Bruce, you're so predictable."

"Valerie," he returned her gaze from under his hoodie, "I took you out to have an ordinary movie night, and you want to watch a movie about sex addiction?"

"But you said I could choose the movie," she whined.

"Choose another one." He pivoted his body to left, "How about—"

She burst into laughter, shaking her head. "Bruce, really, you are so easy."

He sighed. "Just choose the movie."

Still laughing, she turned to right, and pointed to another poster where Gentlemen Thief was written with elegant dark letters. "A kind thief who saves the day on regular basis." She smiled turning back to him. "Now that's more my thing."

He smiled back. "Gentlemen Thief it is."

She tucked her hands in the back pockets of his jeans as they waited at the counter to buy their tickets. "Take the lovers seat," she whispered behind his ear, nipping his earlobe.

He grabbed her hand to pull her beside him and walked into the theatre. Valerie dragged them toward the food counter. "One medium popcorn, no butter; and one M&M, two Mars bars, one nacho—one mineral water and two bottles of water, thank you very much."

Bruce looked at her funnily as she shrugged. Her arms full of her junk food she walked into the theater and to one of the seats to wait for the beginning of the movie. She offered one bottle of water to him but kept the rest of the food to herself. She started with nachos, her fingers picking up cheese and chips, and threw them in her mouth. Bruce rolled her eyes as she sucked the cheese from her forefinger soundly, looking at his eyes. He slapped the finger away from her lips and gave her a look. She smiled wider, throwing another chip in her mouth.

"Are you really going to eat all of that?"

She gave him a blank look. "Yeah…"

"Maybe you shouldn't," Bruce remarked causally, "these—"his hand waved over her lap, "will come back to bite you one day. And you seem to have put on a little weight since last month."

She gaped at him. "I have not!"

He shrugged, and reached out to touch her belly. "You have a little bump here."

"I do not," she protested again, throwing the chips down, a horrified look on her face. She touched her stomach and rolled her top up to look at her belly. "I do not," she repeated, "I step up on the scale every morning. I have not put on weight, Bruce Wayne."

He shrugged. "I only say what I see."

She looked truly horrified and Bruce couldn't go on. He let out a good loud laugh and wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. "You are so easy too, baby." Her face soured as she pushed herself back and threw the chips at him.

"Val—" Bruce protested still laughing, hands wiping the chips off.

"You're just mean, Bruce Wayne, mean, plain horrid mean. I can't believe you." She put the food to the side and crossed her arms under her chest. Laughing again, Bruce picked up a chip and brought it to her lips. "Baby, I'd never stop loving you even if you ended up being over two hundred pounds—"

"Yeah, sure, all that beauty is only skin deep yak yak yak..." She pushed his hand away. "As soon as I put on one pound you'll run to one of those long legged cheap dates of yours."

"I would never!"

"Hah! You're too accustomed to being in the company of gorgeous women, Bruce, and since I've seen to it that your celibacy went out the window you can't resist temptation any longer—"

"Valerie, seriously, you have that much trust in me?"

She shrugged. "You're a man."

"Well, you always say I'm not a normal one." She tilted her head. He laughed faintly and picked up another chip. "Come on, eat it." She glowered at him. "Don't worry, baby, I'll make you burn these calories tonight. Trust me."

She rolled her eyes but opened her mouth. "No backing down," she warned before taking the food in.

"Valerie, when have I ever left your needs unfulfilled?"

She swallowed. "You don't want me to answer that question."

"What?"

A wicked smirk appeared on her lips. "Hah, not so much not-normal."

"That was mean, Val."

"I can be mean," she opened her lips again for another chip, "To the last calorie?"

"To the last ounce of fat," he promised. She smiled wider, her lips licking the sauce off his fingers. "Behave."

"Never."

The film was exactly how he wanted, entertaining, lighthearted, and easy to watch. Valerie followed it with eyes widened in amusement, stuffing popcorn in her mouth, her gaze fixed on the screen. Bruce wrapped his arm over her shoulders just how he'd imagined, played with her hair, his fingertips gently brushing it, and he knew then that it was a good idea, a very good idea, and they really needed to do this stuff more often.

Whenever he tried to steal her popcorn, she waved his hands away from her treasure, and Bruce laughed silently, bringing his lips over her neck, giving chaste kisses over its length, and she squirmed, her body shaking with silent laughter as she sent him playfully annoyed looks. He brought their tangled hands over his lips and kissed her knuckles slowly, and she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing out with a purr.

"Bruce," she said exasperated when they walked out of the cinema, "You're a very naughty boy."

"You're rubbing me the wrong ways, baby."

"I am, am I not?"

"Yes, very." She closed in further and climbed on her toes to kiss his cheek soundly. "Thank you for tonight, Bruce. I've had the greatest time."

He smiled back. "Did you like the movie?"

She nodded. "A lot, he was such a gentleman."

"Quite romanticized," he agreed. "I liked it, a lot too."

She laughed. "It's a pity you'd try to catch him if it was real life."

"Well, yeah."

"But the thrill—you must feel that too, you must have felt that too—back in days."

"It wasn't like that, Valerie," he said, "I wasn't seeking thrill. I was trying to understand."

"Did you?"

"Perhaps a little," he confessed.

"It isn't just about stealing, Bruce. Thieves like him, they aren't just after money. They thrive on it. It's like an addiction too." They walked out of the alley and started to walk to Hyundai. "The thrill of knowing you're doing something you shouldn't, something forbidden, the taste of forbidden fruit, the sweet call of sin; it's like—you know, like you're Goldilocks—"

"Goldilocks?"

"Yeah, Goldilocks, you know—" She lifted her head up at him to show a genuine smile, lips parting eagerly, "You sit on all the chairs, eat all the soup, lie on the beds, and experience the life all those people have."

"Bears," he corrected, "they were bears."

"Yeah, bears." She frowned and looked at him again. "You know I've never understood that tale. Why did the bears got that furious anyway? A little blonde girl was just lying there, taking a little nap. You'd expect they'd adopt her or something, but the bears had a field day instead."

"Well, she wasn't a perfect guest. She ate their meal and broke the baby bear's chair."

She scoffed. "She ate soup and that was already tepid, by the time the bears made it home, it was going to get be cold anyway. And I always wondered about that chair. Tell me," she asked, arching one eyebrow up, "what kind of chair could support a baby-bear but be broken when a little girl sits on it?"

Bruce thought about it for a second, and before he could stop himself, answered. "How do you know the girl was little? Perhaps she was an obese child."

She shook her head defiantly. "Nope, I checked all the illustrations in the library—"

He gave her a baffled look. "You did?"

"Yeah, Cathleen was used to tell me that story a lot and I couldn't understand it. I had to go and check."

Bruce shook his head, faintly laughing. "Anyway, Goldilocks isn't over-weight in any of illustrations. She's a pretty, tiny, little girlie. Do you know what really happened, Bruce?" She asked, leaning on him. "That chair was already broken and it was going to break regardless of who sat on it."

Bruce let out a sincere laugh, pulling her closer to his side. "What?" she asked, scowling at him, "It's logical."

"So this is the point you get from Goldilocks and Bears," he asked back, "That the chair was broken."

"It's perfectly logical!" she fumed.

Bruce nodded. "She should sue the bears for negligence then." She giggled, tugged her hand on his arm. "Hmm…Perhaps that's why she ran away so crazily, she wanted to catch her lawyer before he left his office."

"Or because he'd charge her twice for after-work hours," she remarked, "those little buggers."

"Valerie," Bruce said then, "you made your point, baby."

"Did I?"

"Yes, only you could interpret that tale like that."

"You came up with the negligence case, darling, there must be some hidden advocate in you."

Shaking his head, he backed her toward the wall, and dropped his head into the angle of her neck. "Do you want me to take you dancing?"

"I have a better idea," she breathed out.

He lifted his eyes toward her, his lips still trailing over her skin. "How about acting like a normal couple who pretend to be dysfunctional to spice up their love life?"

"Oh," he panted out.

"Yes, I always have better ideas. Let's go to home and party."

"Are we setting up our pole too?"

"Absolutely," she agreed eagerly. "They want to be totally dysfunctional; want to resolve their issues through wild sex."

The Hyundai wasn't as fast as the Lamborghini but Bruce aimed to close the gap. Valerie found a radio station that played dance music and moved all the way to the manor, singing along at the top of her lungs as Bruce divided his attention between her wildly dancing figure and the driving.

Unfortunately her dancing figure was a lot more interesting sight than the road, as she sang along, and she punctuated every line of the lyrics with a throw of her head, dancing on her seat, "Mama lover, shake up shake up shake up! Mama lover, shake up shake up shake up!"

He got more distracted as she clutched the seat belt and turning aside she pulled her legs up to sit on them, her hand roaming over his torso, "Heart breaker shake up shake up shake up…" She turned around under the belt and pointed her bottom toward him and shook it. Smiling Bruce slapped her ass playfully.

"BRUCE!" she exclaimed over the music and lunged at him to steal a kiss, and it was only due to his sharp driving skills that they managed to make it to the manor without any incident.

As soon as Bruce parked, she jumped out and started to run toward the main door, still dancing, still signing, her voice all out-of-tune without the original music backing her up, but still it was one of the best performances he'd ever seen.

He caught her at the steps, twirled her around. She took steps backward facing him, arms curled around his neck as their legs tangled. "Heartbreaker, you are—" he murmured, nibbling her ear lobe.

"I was singing it to you," she shot back, as her back hit on the door. "You're quite a heartbreaker."

"I am not," he objected, opening the door, "I am a perfectly kind man, the kind you like the most."

Her suggestive smile turned purely dirty as she stepped back over the threshold. "I like bad boys too, naughty ones."

"Do you?"

"Oh, yes, quite. I just don't like mean ones."

"I'm not one."

"Not now," she agreed.

He continued to advance toward the stairs that led to their bedroom while Valerie kept climbing backward. Thirty seconds later, her back hit on the wooden door of the master bedroom and he moved his arm to right to slide it open as Valerie placed her hands on his chest and pushed him an inch back. "Bruce, darling," she said acutely and pushed him a little further. "You go in and relax, I'll be back in a minute."

She took a step forward but he caught her elbow. "Where are you going?"

"To grab something. Trust me, we'll have some real fun tonight."

"Val—" He wasn't sure but his tone might have come out as a little bit whining. He didn't care for lingerie at the moment and she already had tons of it in their bedroom anyway. It'd be better to make her to move everything into his room soon.

"Trust me," she cut him off and punctuated the words with two chaste kisses.

One and half minutes later, she turned back, a little karaoke machine in her arms. She smiled up at him. "Karaoke?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"See, we'll make our own party and will rock it." He laughed and she dropped the set down urging him towards the TV. "Come on, set it up."

Shaking his head, he walked toward to the slim karaoke box, and started to plug the wires into the monitor. "When did you buy it?"

She shrugged. "Some time ago. You know me, always have to be prepared."

He nodded, rolling his eyes and leaned forward to set it up. Valerie went toward her drawer and pulled out a piece of ivory lingerie, with a back that was open to her rump and a hem that fell just above her knees, longer than those she usually wore. She changed into it, while Bruce dealt with the machine. He turned his head over his shoulders. "Okay, done. Which song?"

"Hmmm….which one?" she asked, chewing her lip in consideration then she beamed. She ran toward him and went through the lists to choose her song. When she settled on the same group, he raised his eyebrows. "Darlin'" she pushed him back, "you go sit back, watch, and enjoy the show!"

He grinned then adjusted the final setting and walked to the couch as he was instructed. He leaned back comfortably carefully watching her figure. The music started a second later and she smiled wide, moving along. "Oh-oh," she started, taking a big powder brush and raising it up to her mouth as a mike. Bruce shook his head. _"Let's start the war damn sexy."_ Her finger pointed at him. "_Oh-oh, and fuck what good girls may say._"

_I say, I open a bottle in taxi…And I'm ready to be under you big time…_ Now this was going to be interesting, that was sure, Bruce knew. Her voice wasn't incredibly good, but it was very sensual, and consequently good enough, her rich tones going along with rhythm well enough, synchronized with the sultry motions of her body as she twirled around the room; the smile on her lips, proving that she was enjoying herself immensely.

_Aaaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa_—and when she jumped on the dressing counter to say the next lyrics, Bruce knew that even if her voice was hideous it wouldn't have mattered, especially as long as she moved her hips like that and said those words in that husky tone with that dirty look on her face; _you know I beat your gun…you know I beat your gun…you know I beat your gun…_

Then she arched her back, screaming the last line…_And I'll be down…_

She jumped down in the solo, dancing wildly with the music then closed in on him. _Oh-oh, I wanna fight with you so bad…_ With the words, her hands slapped his cheeks playfully, then her hand fisted in his shirt's collar and she yanked him toward her face.

_Oh-oh, and break my hand over your ass…_ He tried to catch her lips but she pushed him back and backed off dancing, lips holding a wicked smirk.

_I say, throw me on the dance floor like on the bed…_With last words Bruce didn't let her continue any further. He stood up from the couch, caught her waist and threw her on the bed.

* * *

_Getting Bruce and Valerie 'dating' to try to be like normal couples was one of the things I wanted to do with this story from the very beginning, and I'm kinda depressed that it took more than 100k words to get them this point :) But better late than never, right?_

_The group in the last part is an Russian girl-band, Serebro. When I discovered them, and Elena, I was like, 'omg, I found 'Valerie', in spirit.' Last year, there was a time that I somehow ended up writing 'song fics' and this last part was a result of that. Cheesy, yes, but I like it :)_

_The analogy with Goldilocks is from a Bernie Rhodenbarr book by Lawrence Block, the most amazing thief of all times, including even Selina Kyle and Arsene Lupin! And of course, Gentleman Thief is a shot-out to Bernie, but the real Gentleman Thief is A.J. Raffles. Have I ever mentioned that I have a long history with fictional thieves? :D_

_The quote in the first author note is from Simone de Beauvoir._

_See ya at the second part._


	24. Lay Your Burdens Down - Part II

**Chapter Twenty: Lay Your Burdens Down**

**Part Two**

* * *

Mondays weren't supposed to start this good, Valerie thought upon waking. Bruce was already up, of course, watching her from the armchair. She moved one arm up to stretch her limbs and yawned, then let out a loud satisfied purr. She would have liked it more if Bruce would have been there to press her body into but well, you couldn't always get what you want. Though she still could get quite a lot. She smiled at him, at his eyes that shone with… happiness? God, she was turning into the sappiest girl in the world.

She reached out her arms. "Bruce, darling, what are you doing there? Why are you up anyway?" She frowned a little. "Another meeting with the Law department?"

Bruce shook his head. "Nope, I prepared your breakfast." He tilted his head toward the table behind him. "I made you burn too many calories last night, you need to recuperate."

She smiled further. "There is no such thing as burning too many calories."

He let out a faint laugh. "Up, baby. We need to prepare. And you have to come with me to Wayne Tower today."

"Do I?"

"Well, yes, you're still my bodyguard, right? Wouldn't it be good, if you—I dunno—show up at work a little?"

She huffed out. "Ugh, why bother to fuck your boss if you can't even slack off a little?"

He pulled his lips into a mock smile. "Thank you."

"Is this a new plan, Bruce?" she rolled on her side to fix him a look. "Pulling me into the boring daily office life routine?"

"Not a plan at all," he said shaking his head. "I'm serious. You've stopped coming to Wayne Tower entirely."

"What? Do you want me to stand guard over you?"

"The Foundation will have a meeting today. I want you there. After that you could go meet with Leslie."

She rolled her eyes. "I gave you a good idea, Bruce, what else? Do you want me to pick up the locations, barbecues, and table cloths too?"

"That wouldn't be bad actually."

She puffed out. "Uh—'kay, I want to check on the Security Department anyway. You sent John away but I need to check to see if he left anything behind."

Bruce nodded. "Yes, good idea."

She stood up and walked toward the table. Bruce followed her. She turned her head to him in front of it, and nodded appreciatively. "Omelets, toast, marmalade, honey and butter…hmm…Bruce, darling, you certainly know how to charm a girl, but I'm on diet."

"Huh?"

"I decided to heed your words. As of today, I'm on diet."

"Valerie, baby, I was joking."

She sniffed. "There is a hidden truth in every joke, Bruce. Haven't you heard it before?"

"Val, baby, I was teasing you."

"Well, it was your subconscious then, I'm on diet anyway." She paused. "Bring me a banana."

He bowed his head, and sighed out. "I made the toast just the way you like it, two slices of cheese, and oregano. Won't you at least take a bite?"

She puckered her face. "Don't tempt me! I want a banana."

"Bananas are full of calories too."

"Yes, but it makes you feel full longer. If I eat it now I won't need to eat anything until tonight."

"Valerie," he said, approaching her. "You don't need to diet, and certainly not like that. That's not healthy, and you look fine—"

"Fine?" She cut him off narrowing her eyes.

"Gorgeous, a stunning hot piece of meat," he amended quickly. "Will you eat your toast now?"

She glanced toward the table. "It's not light bread."

"Fine," he grunted, "fine, I'll get you one made with light, okay?"

She shrugged, and he started to walk away. Valerie called after him. "I want light cheese too."

He stopped, turned back. She gave him a facetious smile back, one of the ones he hadn't seen for a while. "Fine, Valerie, fine, I'll humor you, but _if_ you come up with anything else—"

"Then make it good, darling, so you won't have me bitching."

"Remind me again why I'm doing it," Bruce grunted under his breath, turning to open the door.

"Because of love," Valerie called after him, her voice full of laughter, not realizing what she had just said. Bruce let the slip pass.

* * *

Life wasn't going well for Mr. Andrews; life hadn't been going well for Mr. Andrews since the night his newest artifacts had been stolen, an event that, despite his other problems, he couldn't get out of his mind, regardless of how hard he tried. Collectors always were regarded as being obsessed with their point of interests, but Mr. Andrews always thought himself as nothing but a businessman. _Hobbies_ were nice, but hobbies meant nothing without money, another fact that never left his mind, regardless of how hard he tried to dislodge it.

"Mr. Andrews, the payment date for the corporation taxes is approaching, we need cash, or we're going to face problems with the Fiscal Office," his account manager explained monotonously. "I received word from the bank too, we're negative, I'm afraid." God, the man always sounded like a harbinger only it was cash, taxes, fiscal, and banks instead of omens, signs, signal, and prophecies. When he was out of this shit hole, he was going to fire the man first thing.

The cats—those beautiful little things, were supposed to be his ticket out. He had already arranged everything, the deals had been finished even before the merchandise had been—moved to his possession, then _it_'d happened. They'd vanished—magically, poof and they were gone. He scowled, and told himself again there had to be an explanation. There was always an explanation for everything. "You really need to start considering selling—"

His musing came to a halt, as his hands pulled into fists, and he turned to glare at the accountant. "No."

"Mr. Andrews, I know you don't want to—"

"I said no, Larkin," he spat, "I'm not selling, not a single thing." No selling. Speculations were already bad, the sharks had already smelt the blood in the water, and if they'd learned that he'd started to sell his—toys... He shook his head. "The rumors—"

"—are going to be proven true if we don't find money soon, Mr. Andrews," the account interrupted him. God, he was going to fire this man in the worst condition possible, the worst. "We need a liquidation of some—assets."

He nodded briskly, and reached out for the crystal scotch bottle that sat on the desk. He poured a handsome amount of liquor into a glass and cocked it up. "Okay," he finally conceded, setting the glass on his desk, "I'll find something. Now leave me the fuck alone."

The man nodded, his posture didn't even shift with the crude dismissal. He gathered his stuff and exited the study, silent but arrogant in his victory. Mr. Andrews reached out to the bottle again but didn't bother with the glass this time. A knock on the door came as he was halfway through the bottle. "What?" he barked.

Tony entered, Mike on his tail. "Boss, the tech geeks we hired," Tony said as Mike closed the door behind them. "They found the erased data."

His hand stopped midair then slowly he set the bottle down. "You need to see it, boss," Tony continued, "It's really…interesting."

Yes, he certainly needed to see it.

* * *

Valerie sauntered toward the Security Department, nodding her head at the people who greeted her as she passed by. That was interesting, and it made her feel like some kind of princess or something. Getting that kind of attention, being known by a simple glance, recognized and feared and/or respected for whatever reason. She wished she could say it didn't matter, and she didn't like it, but she'd be lying if she did, and she was trying to be open and honest, wasn't she?

The office life had been frustrating and boring while she had been Cameron, and when she was Valerie, the mere bodyguard it had been plain boring, but when she had ended up as Valerie the Boss's only and longest girlfriend, things had turned out quite interesting. Hmm…why she had stopped coming here anyway? Crashing boring board meetings and stealing Bruce away would be fun, and watching the looks on the board members faces… plus, Bruce would get frustrated—and annoyed. He might even end up fucking her in the office at last.

There must have been a good reason why all the most interesting places in the corporate building had ended up in basement; Archives, Applied Sciences, and now Security Development too. She pressed her finger on the lock, and watched as the doors slid open to let her in, another gift from Bruce, her security clearance had been upgraded to cover all sections of Wayne Tower. Her dear darling, showing how much he trusted her in every possible way, and consequently making her melt with his all lovey-dovey things. He'd really prepared her breakfast twice—a second set of toast just to make her happy, she thought and another rush of lovey-dovey feelings swept through her insides. God, she had to get control of these stupid feelings before they got out of control completely.

It was an open office, but the big, cavernous room was so clustered with technological equipment that it made it hard to walk around and the only occupant was a man in his mid-thirties. He had a small figure, which just emphasized that his head was slightly bigger in proportion to his body. She smiled at him, and waved her fingers a little. "Hi."

He looked around, then again to her, and then sputtered out, "Um—um—hi?"

Ah…he didn't recognize her. She smiled. "I was passing by—"

He looked around again. "Um—you can't enter here without—uh—authorization."

She tilted her head. "Yet I am here, so I must have authorization."

"Or—" he sputtered out again, "Or—um—you're a security breach."

She arched her eyebrow. "Do I look like a security breach?"

She could see he was thinking about it, the calculations going on behind his glassy pale blue eyes. "Are you my new co-worker?"

She shook her head apologetically. "No. I'm Valerie—" and she watched the man's eyes remain unchanged. She sighed briefly. "Mr. Wayne's—bodyguard."

"Ah—" he said then.

She smiled again. "Yes."

"So you were—"

"—passing by," Valerie completed, walking towards the work counter in the left corner. She picked up a small device that looked like a detonator. "There is a boring board meeting up there, and Bru— Mr. Wayne sent me away, said I'm too much—" She pivoted her body to send him a small flirtatious smile, "—of a distraction." She tossed the device down, and picked up another round item as he walked toward her. "I was walking around and realized that I've never been in SD, and thought I would just say hi, uh—" She looked at him expectantly.

The man's cheeks reddened and he agitatedly reached out his hand. "Um—sorry, Tetch," he introduced himself and Valerie took the offered hand, smiling up at him. "Jervis Tetch."

"Nice to meet with you, Jervis." She looked around again, dropping her hand off. "Do you work here alone?"

His hands flew over the counter to arrange the devices as he answered again agitatedly, "As of the moment, yes. I had two co-workers before, but recently both of them went away."

"Oh," her voice dropped a tone, "it must be boring, being here all alone."

He shrugged. "It has some merits too, no one bothers me now—" He gave her a quick look and amended quickly, "Not you of course."

"Of course," she answered back chirpily. "My delightful company never bothers anyone." She started to pace again, along the counter, and asked causally, "What happened to your co-workers? We let them get snatched off by rivals?"

His hands didn't stopped working on the device he was holding. "Not really, Jackson was offered a place at MIT doing research, and John—actually I don't know what happened to him. Two weeks ago, I learnt he was sacked."

"And no one said anything?"

He shook his head. "Isn't there a head of your department?"

He shook his head again, eyes not drifting from his job; he was quite a worker-bee. "No, we're report to the Applied Sciences head."

And that was Fox. Hmm. "I see." She paused then leaned on the other side of the table toward him, and pointed at the device in his hands. "What does that thing do?"

"This?" he asked, "This is a magnetic distorter—"

"To disturb long rage waves? Or to pick up them?"

His eyes lifted, and for the first time since their encounter he looked at her with something she could describe as interest. Finally. "To pick up, I am trying to differentiate long range gamma waves from the short ones—"

She frowned. "Gamma waves? Um, I'm not gonna pretend this is my field of expertise but aren't they something to do with—uh brain waves?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah, I am—um a neuroscientist—"

She arched one eyebrow. "Who works in the security development department?"

He leaned toward the computer and squinted at the device. "Couldn't find a job anywhere else. I'm trying to wire a new security system using waves close to neural oscillation."

"Uh—okay," she breathed out, "I'll just nod here and pretend like I understand what you're saying."

He smiled briefly, just a ghost of a smile, then bowed his head again and resumed working. She sighed, started to pace again, ignoring his frown. He was probably wanting to send her away, but didn't dare offend the Boss's girlfriend… smart boy. Then her attention was caught by the hat pegs in the farthest corner. "Hats?" she exclaimed. "So many hats." She jogged towards them. "Are they yours?"

He nodded.

"All of them?"

His eyes found her again as he watched her. "Yeah, I like—hats."

"I do too!" she exclaimed again and put the bowler hat on top of her head. "Does it look good on me?"

His eyes sparkled suddenly. "Yes, it does look good on you, Ms. Valerie."

She smiled wider, and bit the corner of her lips as an idea struck at her. She turned to look around to find a mirror, and couldn't find one, but the reflection in reflected glass of the window was enough. Momentarily she imagined herself on a chair, slowly stripping until only in the hat remained…Oh, Bruce was going to love it. She turned to look at Jervis. "Can I have this?"

He looked like he was in a dilemma, she could see that he was a collector and collectors were always possessive of their stuff but then again it was Valerie, the Boss's girlfriend who was asking for it. She read his thoughts like an open book as he discussed with himself and then he nodded slowly, as if it pained him, and she wasn't surprised.

She decided to give him a present for being such a lovely boy, and jogged toward him, leaned forward, and put a kiss just at the corner of his mouth, dangerously close to his lips and whispered "Thank you." She leaned even closer. "I'll take a good care of it, trust me."

His eyes went from pained to sparkling, and she already felt better. She turned around, started to walk out but stopped once she spotted something in the opposite corner, something that looked like a crude metal dentists chair with dozens of electrodes running up to what looked like a hair dryer, she looked at it, taken aback, then exclaimed. "What is that thing?"

"It's a—um—a side project of mine," he blurted out then added, "I work on it on my free time."

She looked at it again, and another frown appeared on her brows. "It looks like something used for torturing people?" An old persistent memory tried to make its way to surface from the depths of her mind, and decisively she pushed it back.

"Wh—what?"

"It looks close to a torture device," she said coldly.

He looked at her again. "It's a home-made EEG—I built it myself, I'm trying to—um—map the brain."

Neurons then—he was a neuroscientist to the last. She gave him a look, and he turned his eyes away in shame. She shrugged and opened the door. "Uh—huh, okay. Have fun with it and try not to torture anyone accidentally."

* * *

Holly looked at Selina, and Selina looked at Holly, then the young girl smiled her smile, mischief laden with innocence, wide eyes laughing and Selina gave a little shake of her head. Her own lips pulling into the faint lines that had been made over the years by her patented sardonic smile. "Good news?"

Holly nodded. "I told him all the things you told me. He seemed to eat them."

"Of course, he did. Poor boy always wants my attention."

Holly laughed back coyly. "So what are we going to do now?"

She sighed again, this time louder. "This is the part that I really hate, dearie."

"Huh?"

"Waiting."

Holly smiled and looked outside… The night was coming.

And Selina Kyle was ready.

* * *

Leslie sat at the small table, looking absentmindedly at the menu under the glass of the table top and took a sip of her coffee. The girl wasn't running late, she had just arrived _earlier_. Last night the boy had called specifically to kindly hint about going to the café before she was due to arrive. Leslie had scoffed mentally, and thought it was simply ridiculous, but nevertheless had decided to indulge him. He was Thomas and Martha's son, after all.

Then she appeared around the corner, a bowler hat perched on the top of her long dark hair, which fell over her shoulders in natural loose waves, emphasizing a dark green cashmere sweater that was unbuttoned to reveal a generous amount of pale cleavage, paired with simple jeans,. She looked different—different than the glamorous girl she had occasionally seen in the magazines. Somehow she looked closer—more real to her true nature, although Leslie couldn't explain what that meant. It was just a hunch—a gut feeling.

Leslie had always good instincts, and a lot of wishful thinking and in her line of work had learned how to decipher the one from the other. She knew the woman coming toward her was the real one, the authentic her, just how she knew the man she had seen while dressing his bandages was the real man behind the many masks of Bruce Wayne. And that meant this—whatever it was, really meant something to her; what, she wasn't sure, but something.

Suddenly she felt a subtle joy that lifted her lips faintly upward. Leslie wasn't a woman of many smiles, she wasn't quick to smile anymore, life had seen to that, but viewing her as she walked toward her table, Leslie understood what Alfred meant by better, and felt better too. The boy was Thomas and Martha's son, the only thing that mattered that remained from them and that meant a lot in her book.

Spotting Leslie sitting on the table by the curb, Valerie hastened her lazy pace, and stopped in front of her. "Hi!" Her eyes flicked down to her coffee cup, then toward her wrist to check her watch. She tilted her eyes up under the brim of her hat and took the accessory off, and threw it on the empty chair next to Leslie before dropping herself on the chair opposite. "Oh, good, you are early," she let out a small sigh, "For a moment, I thought I was running late." Leslie arched her eyebrow. "Bruce," she clarified, and let out another soft sigh. "If I made you wait for our first—second date, I wouldn't hear the end of it."

"I wouldn't tell him if you ran late," Leslie said settling her coffee cup down. "That wouldn't be a nice thing to do."

The girl arched her eyebrow at this, and she was better, way better than she had ever been at making that one gesture convey something suggestive, questioning, and amused all at once. She nodded, a smile slowly raising the corners of her lips. "A little emergency," Leslie explained, "needed my daily caffeine fix."

"Ah," the one syllable dropped from her mouth, "this is an amazing teashop, but their coffee—" She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "It sucks."

Taking another little sip from her cup, Leslie had to agree. But it was a nice shop, small but cozy, cute tables on the curb, and the last colorful flowers of autumn beside them, it looked like a European café, something not very common in States, and certainly not in Gotham. And it was all away from the hot spots that were generally cluttered with paparazzi too, Leslie had noticed. "So," she started, pushing the coffee away, "do you want to eat something? I saw some of their plates; they seem to make good pasta."

The enigmatic woman perked up then winded down just as suddenly. "Nope…I'm on diet."

"Diet?" she asked, giving a look at her slender figure.

"Yeah, Bruce has hinted that I eat like a pig," she said. "He claims he was teasing me, but it's always better to be cautious than sorry." And she said that last part in a way—in a way that made Leslie pause; she hadn't sounded resentful or begrudging, quite the opposite, she had sounded rather matter-of-fact. Leslie feverishly hoped she wasn't bulimic. She looked at her figure more closely, slender but not unhealthy, no circles under glinting eyes, teeth well-shaped and quite white, not sparkling ceramic white, but naturally white without any defects—

"I'm not bulimic," she said then laughed, "When I go self-destructive route, I tend to be more—destructive."

Leslie looked at her. She laughed again, and wriggled her fingers towards a waitress. "I'll have a Taglietelle alla Bolognese and a glass of Chianti. And my friend here will have," she turned to her, and gave her an expected look.

"The same," Leslie supplied, and went on when waitress left them. "What happened to the diet?"

She sighed briefly after the waitresses back then turned back to Leslie. "He'll just have to work harder tonight in bed, I guess." She braced her hands on the table and leaned forward, her amused eyes holding hers. "Tell me," she demanded, "Did he suggest that you come earlier than me?" Leslie gave her a stupefied look. "I knew it!"

She frowned. "You did?"

She drew back from the table. "Yep."

"But you said—he wouldn't—"

"Wanted to see how you'd react."

Leslie frowned further. "How did I react?"

"Like you were amused," she shot back smugly. "Besides, you're a tea junkie, not a caffeine addict. Alfred always prepares you tea."

Leslie leaned back, crossed her arms under her chest, and gave her a look. "They said you're good."

"I am," she confirmed.

Before she could find an answer for that, she was saved by the meals' arrival, and then she looked she had already forgotten all about it. During lunch, she talked—and god, she talked—and Leslie felt she could talk over even the most mundane things for hours, for days; words were all mouthy, witty, and almost always ending in a double meaning. She chattered with ease, flirted with waiters, gave little flirty side-smiles to other patrons. She even caught her winking at a young man once.

When her plate was empty, she gulped down the rest of her wine and settled the glass down with a thud. "Leslie," she looked at her, "how about a little girl-bonding activity?" When Leslie looked at her questionably, she gave her a half-smirk, all meaningful in its etiquette, and clarified, "Shopping."

x

This wasn't what Leslie had expected. She'd expected a day spent in luxury shops where they treated their customers with drinks and cakes, or a day wasted in hair dressers, or jewelry stores, not in IKEA.

"Red dots on the white, or white dots on the red?" she asked, holding each item in each hand, and let out a sigh. "Some decision to make. I wish we could go with Bruce's routine."

"What's Bruce's routine?" Leslie asked, looking at the samples of the table cloths.

"Whenever I can't decide, he suggests I buy both."

"Nice," Leslie answered, and easy, she thought, as he was a billionaire, and if Alfred's subtle remarks were to be counted that was very handy thing to be when it came to shopping for her.

"And smart," she commented indifferently, her gaze still fixed on the tablecloths. "Usually he ends up benefitting the most." She frowned a little, pursing her lips then nodded, "All right, darling," she threw them over her shoulder, "That's it. I'm picking up the table clothes, and you'll decide it."

Suddenly Leslie understood better. "He ma—asked you to shop for tablecloths?"

She frowned. "Make one good suggestion, and everyone asks you for miracles."

Leslie looked at her at lost, and she sighed. "Come on, let's go, we have to find a place, and there's still the matter of barbecues."

Then it dawned on her. "This is for his fundraiser, right? Lucius mentioned a picnic…you're shopping for the picnic."

She shrugged walking out of the big market, her hands full of packages. "Ironic, isn't it?" She slanted her a look. "He's refusing to talk with GCPD after what happened, but willing to throw a fundraiser for their purpose." She shook her head, threw the packages in the backseat of her car—Bruce's car, and her voice was most affectionate when she said, "Stone headed noble idiot."

Leaning on the passenger's side, Leslie suddenly understood Alfred's words to Lucius better. She wasn't—normal, in fact she was quite mental, but then Leslie thought one had to be a little bit mental to fall in love with Bruce Wayne anyway.

* * *

Okay, honeymoon has ended. With the next, Catwoman finally makes her real appearance.

Later,

G.


	25. The Damsel in Distress vs The Hero

_A/N: Are you bored with all those damsels in distress that are rescued by the heroes?_

_Then allow Ms. Kyle fix that with her own twist :)_

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Twenty-One: **

**The Damsel in Distress vs The Hero**

* * *

Regardless of his many courting, there was only one way for Valerie to return the gesture. "How did it go with Leslie?" Bruce asked as she applied the black paint under his eyes.

"Nice," she answered, taking the brush to her other hand. "We ate lunch, bought tablecloths too. Red on white, or white on red; couldn't decide, bought both, you'll have to decide on one."

"Will do," he said, and ran his fingertips along the rim of her hat, "Another purchase?"

"This?" she touched the hat too, "Oh, no, a gift. Jervis gave it to me."

He frowned. "Who is Jervis?"

She gave him a look, "Your security development guy, the former co-worker of John the collaborator. I visited him today, remember?"

"Oh—" he said then frowned again. "And he gave you a hat?"

"He has hats, darling, lots of them. And I asked one and he gave it to me."

"Hmm…so it wasn't exactly a gift, more like a forced present."

She shrugged. "I wear my hat now, don't I?" She put the brush down then gave him a look. "And you don't need to be jealous, darling. He's a funny small boy, not in your league, not even close. Now—" She curled her arms around his armored neck, "Did you take the finger prints?"

He nodded.

"Be careful, okay?"

And of course, he gently brushed her hair back. "I will."

She leaned into his touch, smiling, eyes half closed. "Come back soon," she started but he caught her lips in a kiss that cut her off. He pulled back an inch a few seconds later, and whispered voice laden with suggestive tones, so unusual in his armored state, "You'll be waiting, I know, and leave your hat on."

She drew in a breath, looking into his eyes, her inside flaring up. She gnawed her bottom lip. "Don't do that—" Bruce grated out over her lips.

She gulped and mumbled, "Do what?"

"Don't bite your lips like that, don't breathe like that, don't look at me like that—like you're begging me to have you right now, right on this. I need to go."

Her head swirled as she breathed out again. "Then don't talk to me like that."

He looked at her, hard, his darkened eyes almost the same color as the paint under his eyes; he looked at her from behind his cowl and rasped out harshly, "I want to fuck you."

"And I want you to do nothing else."

He was on her in a heartbeat and she was pressed down on top of the workstation as his hands started to take off her jeans as hers flew over to his cowl to pry it off, "Watch out, the current," he warned, pulling the tight jeans off her body. "Don't wear damn jeans," he grunted out frustrated when they didn't get off fast enough to his satisfaction but by the time he got them off, Valerie had already taken care of his mask. Her hands rubbed the paint under his eyes. He took her sweater off and rubbed his face over her breasts, getting her dirty with the kohl paint. She drew in a deep breath as he bit her nipple, her hands working on the armor's lower parts.

He pulled himself up an inch to help her in her mission, still holding her nipple. She cried in response arching over the ledge, then grunted, "Your armor is worse than my jeans and we lost my hat too."

"I'll find us another song," he grated as his hand flew up to find the computer as Valerie pried him from the titanium enforced plates. When she heard the familiar harsh, beating, breathy rhythms she laughed out, and chanted, "Well, well, well. Someone wanna fuck me like an animal?"

"Yes," he answered bluntly.

"Subtle," she shot back, then was thrown down at the cave's floor. Bruce dropped on her, his weight pressed her down onto the pebbles. She arched her back as they drove in her back, while Bruce made his way in with a sudden deep stroke. "The song is good enough for you?"

"Yes, get me closer to God," her hands curling in the earth, she forced out. When he didn't move, she clutched his shoulders, rolled them over. As his back hit on the ground, Bruce drew in a sharp breath. Smirking, she straddled him, and leaned forward, "Or else," and braced her palms on each side of his head. "I might end up fucking you like an animal."

Like a wild animal that caught his prey with fast and slick movements, she was got caught under him once again. Burning with hunger, his eyes turned even more feral as he caught her hands up above her head. "No," he entered in her fully again. "Not this time." His voice taunted her as his hips started to pound her, rough, hard and fast, he rode her with his salvage rhythm, the raw rhythms of his music echoing around the cave, carrying him further into his carnal frenzy; even the fact that Alfred might show up at any minute was lost on his mind but Valerie knew it was impossible, impossible to walk on them unguardedly because everyone within a mile radius must already know that Batman was fucking, and he wasn't doing it shyly.

x

Gazing up at the ceiling without processing, her body aching and still shivering Valerie waited for senses return to normal. Bruce was silent next to her, apart from erratic breathing, and Valerie could understand. If it was like this for her, she couldn't even imagine how it might be for him.

"Are—we—are we going to write it off as another failure?" she asked ten minutes later, when she was sure she could manage without choking on her breath.

Bruce tilted his head aside to give her a look, then turned his eyes back up at the ceiling. "I should be preparing to break into Tavian's place now, not trying to catch my breath, lying wasted on earth, pebbles picking into my back." He let out a deep breath. "So yes, definitely a failure."

She gave out a ragged breath too. "Well, to be fair to me, I have no blame in the matter this time. You started this. I was perfectly well-behaved."

"Well-behaved my ass," he sneered. "You put that hat on to provoke me."

"I did not—" She protested, "but speaking of it, where is my hat?" She tilted her neck a bit up to look around. "I promised Jervis that I'd take a good care of it."

He shrugged. "Well, we did."

"Bruce, really, underneath that whole that no-nonsense exterior you have a very dirty mind, you know that, right?"

"Of course," he quipped. She rolled her eyes, he continued. "Anyway, you now have a song to remind you of me always."

"Oh, please," she shot back, "Wanna impress me? Write one yourself."

"Hmm... How about Miss Impossible?"

"Bruce," she whined, "Don't be mean."

"I'm not," Bruce said before he stood up. He checked his watch then started to put back his armor. "I'm just naughty."

"Ha ha," she sneered then gave him a look. "Are you still going out?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

He picked up her clothes and threw them at her. "And you are too, come on, up."

Huffing, she started dressing. "I should be in bed, wrapped in the sheets, drowning in my post-coital bliss." She ran a hand through her tangled hair, shook a few smaller pebbles out, and exclaimed, "Pebbles, there are pebbles in my hair!"

His hand reached out to toss her hair to make the little stones fall further. "You shouldn't have put that much product in your hair, it's made them stick."

"Fuck off, Bruce Wayne."

* * *

Gotham's nightscape was beautiful; alluring, tempting, sinful, but beautiful, the lights shining, the sinister glamour hiding the truth behind its sparkling veil.

Standing on the edge of the roof, the familiar rush sweeping through her veins, blood ringing in her eardrums, and her heart beating madly, Selina pulled the costume's hood over her head and hid her features in the shadows.

She knew, somehow she still knew, perhaps the last logical part of her mind, the last part of her that was still functioning, knew that she must have felt fear for what she was about to do, dread should have reigned, and terror should have seized, but gazing down thirty stories below, Selina knew she had never felt this alive in her life.

She moistened her lips, tasted the crimson rouge on her lips, copper and sour, and her fingers ran over the leather, slick and luscious. Her head tossed back, she bit her lips as her smile tilted her lips up, remembering the dock, and always, always the blood running down her inner thighs, and the girl over the surface, fracturing and glinting… Perfect…perfect…perfect… she was perfect once again.

* * *

Drumming her fingers on the counter in a fast annoying rhythm Valerie waited, as Bruce waited miles away from her on a rooftop opposite of the Tavian's residence. Tonight was great, the timing was optimal; Tavian was out with his pals for another boy's night out, taking his mini army of bodyguards with him. Still she wished she hadn't needed to suffer for it. She tossed her head in mild irritation and watched another rain of pebbles fall down.

How she wanted to be in a shower now, just a quick shower, and then curl up against Bruce. She could understand Bruce's persistence though, she could even agree; they had to set this thing up already, no, they had to be done with Tavian, the Russian, and Derrick already, they had to find that drug ring already, and Bruce needed to move to another problem, yet another tangled ball in which the ends and the beginnings were all mixed up.

The joys of Gotham.

"Not ready yet?" Valerie asked.

"I will be in a few minutes, stop distracting me," he rasped out, the joys of Batman too.

Huffing, she tossed her hair and watched another rain of pebbles fall over her shoulders. "There are still pebbles in my hair!" she remarked petulantly.

"Valerie, I'll wash your hair myself when I am back," he said, and even though it was Bruce talking to her at the moment, his voice had still the distinctive rasp, thanks to her mix. "Stop distracting me now."

"Fine," she bit off.

"Do you have all images down?"

"Yes."

"Positions?"

"All good to go," she answered absentmindedly, fidgeting, her rump was a little sore from all the action that had taken place moments ago, then she noticed her phone was lit up on the counter. She flicked a quick glance over to it and groaned loudly, very loudly.

And Bruce grunted out under his roughened breath. "What is it now?" She didn't respond, still looking at the phone. "Valerie?" Bruce prompted.

Reluctantly she answered, "Selina is calling."

Bruce hissed in anger, she could even almost hear the sound his teeth were making. "Patch me through then answer it."

She did and the answered the call with a cool voice. "I thought I lost your attention, Selina."

"You did, dearie," Selina answered without missing a beat, voice laden with sweetness, "But this isn't for you. Tell me, is he listening?"

Valerie barely held back the sigh on her lips. "Yes. What do you want?"

"From you? Nothing," she shot back. "Bruce, say hi, please."

Growling, Bruce did. "What do you want, Selina?"

"Your help," Selina answered enthusiastically. "Unfortunately this is not for catching up, it's more like a distress call. I'm the damsel in distress, and since you're the hero—" she trailed off, then said, "Come on, I can't wait all night to be rescued."

"Selina, what are you talking about?" Valerie asked.

"Everyone says diamonds are the best friend of a girl and it occurred to me that I don't have enough friends. So I came downtown to pick up a few, but I triggered some dragons that were protecting my friends."

"And you want me to rescue you from the dragons?"

"No, silly, I expect you rescue me _and_ my friends."

"Why would I do that?"

"Well, the dragons might come any minute, and imagine what would happen then," Selina said causally, even though the threat in her words couldn't be any clearer.

"And would you throw yourself into fire just to get me burned?"

Selina sighed exaggeratedly, and spoke to Valerie, "Valerie, please tell Bruce what happened to Thomas's first car."

"Is this the new game, Selina? Drop it. You don't need his help."

Selina just laughed. "Why, dearie, I already told you. I _don't_ do legwork." She sobered seconds after, her mocking tone turning fatally serious, cold and sharp like a blade. "Hurry up, the police are already approaching. Trust me. You don't want me in their company."

"Do it, Bruce," Valerie said finally, "Or she'll do it, she will let herself get caught just to make her point."

* * *

"This is madness, plain fucking madness," Valerie muttered angrily under her breath as Bruce aimed his grappling gun at Selina's vantage point, and shot it. He glided through the air and dropping his weight as naturally as diving, rolled on the cemented floor, and stood up. "But I told you, told you countless times, and did you listen? _NOOOOO_… Of course not." He tuned out her angry rambling and tucked his gun in his utility belt, his eyes already searching for his target. A silky mocking, all-too-familiar laughter came from behind him. He turned, and squinted into the shadows.

"Fascinating." There she was, Selina, suited in her costume, sauntering toward him, her eyes covered with a delicate lacework mask. She closed in on him and he noticed the little pointed ears above her head.

He glowered at her, and she smiled further. "Like my new outfit?" she asked, "Granted it's _still_ nothing like the time you came up to see me, but I think I've covered the little wardrobe malfunction quite nicely." She put one leg forward, and ran her gloved hand over the edge of her over the knee boots, and he saw nails—sharpened metallic nails resembling claws at the tips of her fingers. "Don't you agree?"

Valerie asked in a low voice, "What she was wearing the time you went to see her, Bruce?"

He continued to ignore Valerie. "Sel—"

"No names, Romeo. We're just two strangers in the night," she curled her lips down, "Strangers with a thing for theatricality."

"Se—"

"Cat…woman," she said slowly, voice low in thoughtfulness, "Call me Catwoman."

"Catwoman?"

"She's in that damn costume, isn't she? I can't believe it!" Valerie fumed. Bruce momentarily thought about severing their link, but then decided that it wasn't best thing to do at the moment.

Selina on the other hand, smiled even further as she shrugged. "It was her idea, I decided to play along." She stopped in front of him, and when Bruce looked at her, in her cold blue eyes that were hidden behind the fancy mask, Bruce saw the same glint he occasionally saw in Valerie's; the sun glinting over the edge of a blade; sharp and fracturing. "This is not a game," he finally said.

Selina nodded seriously as her smile faded fast. "No, no, it's not. The police might come any minute. You'd better hurry."

"What if I don't?"

She shrugged. "I know how to lose, but do you, can you? When the stakes are this high for you?"

"What happened to Thomas's first car, Selina?"

She smiled with a terrible gentleness that clashed with everything else with her. "_Me, _I happened."

"I'll tell you what happened, Bruce." Valerie interrupted. "The masochist bitch squeezed her arm into its door and broke it, and then told Rupert that Thomas had done it."

Bruce decided Valerie was right, this was madness, but then again so little wasn't with them. "I can arrange that you stay out of this," he stated simplistically, face bare of any emotion despite the threat.

"Possibly," Selina agreed, and went on reasonably. "And I'll try to stop you, and then the cops will find us while we try to kick each other asses."

"Is it really worth it?"

She smiled further. "You _are_ worth it."

Valerie hissed in his ear. "Just smack her, Bruce, and be done with it."

He stayed in complete silence, cast in marble, not moving an inch, then suddenly Selina tossed her head back, and laughed, loudly. A second later, she stopped and her eyes found his again. She started to pace around him. "You really don't understand, do you?"

He looked at her as she circled around him, taking slow fluid steps. "You know we're alike, you and me." She took another step, moved behind his back, and Bruce angled his neck to follow her as she continued to circle him, her body pivoting to give him side glances. "Your family—they're dead, and my family—they're either dead or I wish they were. You're a high society boy, I am a high society girl. All the men are jealous of you, all the women are jealous of me. You are handsome, I am beautiful. But we have just one difference, one very important thing that sets us apart." She stopped in front of him. "I'm wearing glamorous leather, and you're wearing a bleak armor."

Bruce watched as she smiled, gently, her lips parting in slow motion. "Do you know what it means? Look at me, no, no look at me, _Batman_. I wear a tight skin leather spandex, you wear titanium plates. I hide my face behind lace, you hide your face behind enforced ceramic. I wear red lipstick on my lips, you wear war paint under your eyes. See my point?" Her face tilted further aside with intrigue. "I'm the breaking news, but you're just a filthy deluded rich boy in his self-righteous shit."

"If I'm caught, do you know what will happen? A high society girl, a girl who has everything; money, beauty, and enough luck to maintain it, playing the riot act, stealing jewelry, dressed in a leather cat suit, running over rooftops, calling herself dramatic nicknames—Ah, people are gonna love it. The press will have an early Christmas." She paused to take a quick breath, her voice lowering in something like—disappointment. "Physiologists and sociologists will discuss me on T.V, using big words— 'She's got the ultimate disease of modern people; inanity, and dissatisfaction, and loneliness of the self; the absurdity of _being_ when you have everything in life but a purpose.' But little girls are going to put little cat ears on their heads, women will dress like me at Halloween, and men are going to fantasize about it on the long lonely nights." She purred the last words and her smile widened as she circled him, long legs carrying her with a natural, effortless grace. Valerie was silent in his ear.

"My trial will make the top ratings, it's going to be a national subject, everyone is going to watch it, every single person is going to talk about it, and I'll sit there in front of the judges, and do nothing other than looking beautiful, gorgeous, and so very deeply, profoundly unhappy—there will be tears in my eyes, and I'll look at them, unshed tears sparkling, then will whisper—" She dropped her voice in a trembling whisper, her lips shivering, her face twisting… "I'm so lonely, no one loves me." Her face hardened, the tremor in her voice stopped as her smile reappeared. "Then everyone will scream that they love me."

The smile turned derisive within seconds, as the husky words turned cynical, cutting like the diamonds she was demanding. "And of course, Rupert is going to pull some strings, even if he hates it, he's going to do it, I _am_ family. I'll be out of jail in seconds, sent to do society work or something, you see, I committed a crime, yes, but only little victimless thefts, from other rich people, because no one cares about me. And the press will hunt me, and Hollywood will come too, begging to make a film about me, and I'll be a movie star." She paused again. "Hell, knowing me I say I'd get even an Oscar."

She stopped just a few inches away from him and threw her hands out. "Let's face it, dearie, I'm the new American dream." She moved closer, and her smile vanished as she looked up at him. "But you—you Bruce—" She gave a shake of head, now almost in resignation. "They will call me a troubled young woman, but you will be labeled as a delusional violent sociopath, a menace to the community."

"You're a billionaire who tries to fight the unfairness of this world with millions dollar worth of armor and your bare fists. They can't understand you—they _don't_ want to understand you. You're expected to reek of indifference, you're expected to swim in your inconsiderate lack of concern, in your airy lazy nonchalant ways… too much money, and orphaned at such a young age… You're not supposed to suffer through this deluded duality we all have; no, you're supposed to fuck models, buy things, be a merry fool everyone just loves to despise because they all want to have the life you are supposed to be having, but they don't want to admit it…" Suddenly a look, a sort of sorrowful melancholy appeared on her face, and all things considered it was what put him off the most. For a moment she looked like that girl again, the one he had seen when she had pinned him under her in his bedroom years ago. "You know what I call this? Emerging circumstances…"

Bruce couldn't help it anymore, he asked, "Why are you doing this, Selina?"

"Why?" She titled her head, as if to consider his question. "Because I can?" She made a face. "No, not good enough." She took a step back, then another. "You told me you would forget who I am, and this is me reminding you of who I am, Bruce Wayne," she declared curtly. "I am Selina Kyle, and you'd better not ever dare to forget it. Now go." She took a few more steps backward. "Leave my merchandise on Thirteenth Street, at the corner of Main. And I want _all_, all of them." She took another step, her back hit on the roof's door, and her hands got lost behind her back.

Behind her the door opened, then she _smiled_, "Be seeing you, Batsy."

Her last husky words sounded like an oath.

* * *

By the time Bruce made it back to the cave Valerie was already pacing. She stopped momentarily to give him a look. "I knew it," she muttered, "I just knew it."

Bruce stayed quiet as she resumed her pacing. "We need to call Jeremy back, and set up a meeting with that Hollis. We need to have some leverage, and we need it now."

"So we can threaten her back?"

"Exactly," she exclaimed. "I was being an idiot." She shook her head frustrated. "_We_ were being idiots." Bruce kept looking at her, she fumed. "We have to talk to her in the only language she understands."

"Valerie, it won't get us anywhere. You saw her tonight. Think rationally."

"Rationally?" she exclaimed. "For god's sake, Bruce, she made you steal for her tonight. How rational was that?"

"I didn't _steal_ anything. I'm gonna pay for the things I took," Bruce answered sternly. "But it'd only get worse if we push her further now. This is a game for her, soon she will get distracted or bored—"

"So you suggest we wait till she decides? _Bruce Wayne!_" she exclaimed again. "What happened to you? Has she taken away your wits too?"

"She's taken away nothing. I'll deal with it, but we should tread carefully."

"Yes, carefully." She nodded, resuming her pacing once again. "We need to start spinning some stories right now, cover stories for plausible deniability. Jeremy certainly won't want to make deals over the phone—"

"You're certainly not humoring yourself that I'll let you go back to your old friends, are you, Valerie?"

She turned to him. "I'm not asking for your permission, Bruce."

"My call," he hissed out.

"This is not just business related," she countered.

"Still my call," he repeated.

Her eyes flashed. "What if I don't heed?"

"Valerie, why do we _always_ have to run around the circles? For every step we take forward, we take several backward."

"Because you're always being a hypocrite."

He barked out a scoff. "And you, my sweet, are always being a monument of honesty."

She closed in on him, and put her hands on her hips. "What was she wearing when you went to see her, Bruce?" His frown tightened as he looked at her in silence. "What was it, Bruce?" she prompted.

"Nothing." Valerie let out a hiss, her face twisting, "She wasn't wearing anything."

"And you still tell me we should lay back. Bruce, don't you see—"

"No," he objected heatedly. "I don't see at all why it means you have to fall back to your old friends."

"She will come after you!" she cried out. "She will ruin everything. All those things she said… They were true, they were truth, and she knew it too, and it won't stop her." She twisted her face. "_Emerging circumstances!_"

Bruce grabbed her shoulders. "Valerie, look at me. Do you see why I want you to stand aside from this? You shouldn't let her get under your skin."

"I am not!" she protested. Bruce went on as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"You have to keep it together—"

She shrugged his hands off and shoved him at the chest. "Don't take that tone with me, _don't_ patronize me! I'm not your child."

His eyes flared up with annoyance, his jaw clenched further. He was damn tired running around circles. "Valerie, I _won't_ have that discussion again!"

"Why didn't you tell me she was naked?"

"Because I knew you were going to act just like this."

"Like what?" she seethed.

"Like a banshee on a frenzy of irrational jealousy."

"I'm not jealous, Bruce Wayne."

"You could have fooled me, Valerie still without a surname."

"I'm going to meet with Hollis, Bruce _still_ with a surname," she spat out through her clenched lips as she turned to leave. "And you can do whatever the fuck you want."

"Valerie," he called after her sternly, his voice laced with that particular tone, demanding obedience, and she saw her legs halt of their own record. She let out a hiss of annoyance and shot a glare over her shoulder to find Bruce staring hard at her. "Get one thing clear," he continued, words ushered in certainty. "I stay—you stay. You go—I go."

She pursed her lips. "That's two things."

"No, that's one thing, we're one thing."

She turned back processing what he had just said, then frowned slowly. "Are you saying that you will take me with you in the case that you see my point?"

He closed in on her, giving a soft sigh. "That's a figurative speech, Valerie."

"No, you said," she answered back, a small satisfied smile appearing on her lips as her arms circled around his neck. "'I stay—you stay; you go—I go.' So if you go, I go too."

He rested his forehead on hers. "I'm going to deal with her. Trust me." His eyes found hers under his bowed head. "Promise me, you won't do something stupid."

She finally nodded. "No, I want to hear your promise."

She sighed first but then acceded, "I promise."

* * *

_Okay, we finally came to this point. Selina making her real debut as Catwoman, pulling a 'Paris Hilton' case on Bruce to get what she wants, and Bruce telling Valerie 'we're one thing', which was from one of Random's amazing stories that stars Daniel and Jack while they try to learn how to be a real team. And I just wanted to have Bruce calling Valerie as 'Valerie still without a surname', and Catwoman calling _Batman_ 'Romeo'. :)_

_The next chapter might be delayed a little bit. Moonstruck Kitten is in vacation, and she's got shitty internet._

_Till then, stay well._

_G._


	26. Once a Hero, Always a Hero

_Ho ho ho, my Kitten was amazing, as always. Managed to send me this in a record time. _

_So...enjoy._

**Chapter Twenty-Two: **

**Once a Hero, Always a Hero**

* * *

The sky above was clear, without a cloud in sight. The summer was lingering, resisting the approaching fall and Selina was in a good mood… No, Selina was in an excellent mood, and it had nothing to do with sun, or summer, or fall.

She had done it. She had made Batman steal for her, she—no, Catwoman had done it. Catwoman had had Batman doing her legwork. She smiled wide as she walked toward Derrick Malkin's residence. She had really done it, and she couldn't wait to do it again. But first—she sighed, business came before pleasure now. It was a concept that she wasn't really very familiar with, but Selina had been always a quick study.

She stopped in front of the door and looked at the bodyguard. "Ms. Kyle," the man greeted her before she uttered a word, "Mr. Malkin is waiting for you." She nodded, ignoring the urge to give the man a derisive mocking smile. Hearing these men using the formalities amused her, as did the way they treated themselves like unofficial bankers to help to those—in crisis.

The racketeer was the same as he was the first time she'd seen him; alert, keen, measuring, and respectful. He stood up as she walked into his office, and offered his hand. "Ms. Kyle."

She held his hand, and giving a firm shake, she greeted him, "Mr. Malkin," and almost burst into laughter.

Look at them! Look at the vaudeville! Though, that was her life now, this had always been her life, from the very beginning; Vaudeville, the stage was where she had been living, and now, she had found her role, her very own costume, finally.

"I assume you heard the news," she began, sitting in the armchair in front of his desk. The man didn't sit in his chair this time, instead he settled on the seat opposite of her. She smiled gently. "But I wanted to update you personally."

"Your presence is always welcomed, Ms. Kyle," he said automatically, "But yes, you were astutely correct in your appraisal." He paused for a moment. "We already heard the news."

"From Thomas?" she inquired, even though she already knew the answer.

"Your stepbrother and I don't discuss family matters, Ms. Kyle."

She nodded, her lips still holding a smile firmly in place. "I'll start the payments soon. Just give me a couple of days," she paused, "to work over some—setbacks."

The man nodded. "Of course. You have two weeks."

It shouldn't take that long. She would send the merchandise to Hollis tonight, the same way they had used for the cat statues, and Hollis should receive them before the weekend, and soon the biggest of her problems was going to be put to an end. An end, she was putting something to an end. For a moment, she shivered, but managed to keep her face neutral. She stood up. "It won't take that long, Mr. Malkin."

He stood up too, and gave her a look. "I don't doubt that."

Selina gave the man a measuring look, and tried to decide if he was hitting on her. The words, the courteous praises and gestures suggested that was the case but they lacked—they lacked something, something essential, something important, something...she didn't know how to name. She frowned, disturbed by such a notion. "You'll receive the money soon," she turned to leave. "Have a good day, Mr. Malkin."

Before she could reach the door, it opened, and she almost ran into a fiery redheaded girl. Selina halted on reflex and leaped back a few graceful steps, her posture collected. But since the girl didn't prowl on rooftops at night like her, her slender figure swayed, and just before she fell Selina caught her by the elbow with a firm grip, and stabilized her. "So—sorry," the redhead mumbled.

She let her arm go. "Are you okay?"

The woman's cheeks flushed slightly, and she mumbled again, her eyes drifting to the racketeer. "Sorry," the redhead said again, but this time it wasn't for her. "I didn't realize you had a guest." She frowned a bit. "Lodi didn't mention it."

Malkin came to their side, and giving her a side glance. "Ms. Kyle was about to leave." He shifted toward the woman. "Ms. Kyle, this is Georgina."

Selina tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Pleasure." Not bothering to give her name, she flicked her eyes toward the racketeer. "I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. Malkin."

The man drew closer to his—whatever she was. "I'll be waiting."

She smiled, and walked out, this time without any interference.

* * *

"Thomas." Dylan approached him as he lighted a cigarette, a standard Marlboro, making sure that his smokes were solely smokes had become habit now. "I know you have more dire needs at the moment, like getting Selina inside, and stalking Valerie, but you need to look at the books at some point too."

He shouldn't have let the stupid rascal put a foot inside his club, he really shouldn't have, but as time had always proved, they really were only the ones who could stomach the other. Dylan had written off the events that had resulted him having to _get Selina inside_ with an indifferent shrug, saying he had been drunk and horny, without apology, not that Thomas had expected one. Dylan wasn't one to apologize. Thomas had just nodded, without a word, because well, the other rascal was right, no man was an island and having a voice in the dark was better than the hushed silence.

"Your payment date is coming up," his—friend informed him unnecessarily, settling in on the other stool in front of the bar.

"Dylan, are you into role playing these days?" he asked, pulling a drag from his cigarette. "If so, find another character. Accountant guy doesn't suit you."

"Hah," the suave blonde fixed himself a shot of scotch from the counter, and raised his glass to him. "Everything suits me, Thomas." He gave him a smirk. "I'm adaptable."

Yes, he knew that, he always knew that. After all Dylan was the only person who had managed to survive Selina without a scratch. Thomas glared at him, and the blonde laughed. "Relax, Thomas. All this plotting, scheming, and stalking that you're doing is exhausting. You need to relax."

"Why do you even care?"

"Who says I do?" Serenely, Dylan took a sip from his drink. "I'm only worried for your club. I have some memories here." His eyes turned to the bar, and he sighed with nostalgia. "Especially the bar, it holds a special place in my heart."

"Dylan," he hissed, "fuck off."

Snickering, Dylan continued sipping from his drink. "Perhaps, you should take me on as your partner. I could pay your debts."

"I hate partners." He stood up, leaving Dylan behind, and went to his car, his new car. For anyone else, it would seem ridiculous, he knew; he could trade one sports car for another in a matter of minutes but he couldn't finance a couple million for his—enterprise. No, no, he wasn't going to go to his father. He was not.

Inside the car, first he called the whore he had seen last night. The girl had a unique resemblance to her, with the same svelte body and dark hair, although her eyes weren't the same shade of green, and were much too meek, and her posture was much too shy, but he didn't care as long as she kept her mouth shut. After he fixed a date with the woman, he called his P.I. "Eddie," he said as soon as the line was picked up, "What you have for me?"

The private detective responded without missing a beat, "I think I'm getting to something. Someone here in London. They talk regularly."

"Name?"

"Chuck Hollis."

* * *

It couldn't be said that Tony was the most accurate judge when it came to people—after all he hadn't realized his wife had been fucking his so-called best friend until he had caught them doing the deed, right in his bed, but it was still hard to believe that this woman, this high socialite was the one who had done that to the boss.

She looked how her class of people always looked; arrogant and vain, and with an expression that always hinted that whoever you were, whoever you would ever be, you were always going to be one step beneath them. Tony gritted his teeth in annoyance, and spit at the payment. If there was one good thing about working for Scrawny it was that whenever the boss needed their—assistance, Tony could always be sure that he was going to end up beating some arrogant asshole prick. It was the first time that he was going to have to handle an arrogant bitch but Tony didn't let that kind of discrimination faze him.

As the brunette vanished through the door, he turned to his companion, his eyes already glinting with promises of the night. Tony smiled and Mikey smiled back, and they slowly started to walk forth.

* * *

Alex knew from the bottom of his heart he was asking for trouble, the kind that usually ended up with someone being dead, and he himself being that someone was a good probability. He shouldn't be here. He should return to Molten, do what he always did, fuck a girl, threaten a rival, scare a few new arrivals, and shut down all the rest. He should go back before it was too late, when he still had a chance, but there was no hope for him, no hope for them… and he didn't want any hope anyway. Alex had never cared for hope, never let Pandora's last evil, the evilest of all evils poison him with its sweet call, yet here he was, once again, sitting in his car, at the corner of her street, just waiting…

Suddenly, he thought about the oldest story, the moth and the flame…

"_Because I'm a bad person?"_

"_Yes."_

His hands tightened around the wheel, his knuckles paling, and he hit it repeatedly, his fists fast and heavy, he beat the hell out of the steering wheel until he realized what he was doing. He stopped and looked at the direction of her apartment. He shouldn't be here… this… whatever it was, wasn't going to have a happy ending, and the bitch wasn't his problem anymore; she had made that perfectly clear. He should just go back to Molten, and move on.

There was no hope, no hope for any of them.

He started the car, swearing to himself that this was the last time, swearing to himself that this was the end. He pulled the car out from the curb, finally accepting what was in plain sight, finally being ready to leave her behind, then at that exact moment, when he finally moved, his eyes spotted them, two bulky men walking toward her apartment.

He stopped the car, his hands frozen on the wheel, his mind stopped; he didn't need to be a body language expert to recognize what kind of men they were. He didn't recognize the men, but he recognized the postures well enough.

They weren't his men, not Andrei's, and even though the implications were obscure, they made one thing very clear.

Trouble.

Selina Kyle was in trouble.

* * *

Walking into the living room, Selina settled herself on the armchair, and announced, "Holly, we need to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" the young girl asked.

"Yeah," she smiled. "New beginnings, and endings. How about wine, Holly, red as blood and bitter-sweet as sin?"

Holly stood up. "Sounds delicious."

Selina followed her example as the young girl padded toward the kitchen. She threw off her shoes and turned on the radio. When Holly returned, the voice of Tom Waits had already filled the room. She took the glass Holly offered, and watched as the girl went back to the kitchen to bring a plate of cheese. Selina looked at the glinting Gotham nightscape, the measly part that could be seen from her moderate apartment. Perhaps it was time to move from here.

Her eyes fixed outside, she sipped from her glass. No, not yet, she had to go back to Elliot Manor first, only for a couple of days, a week at most, then she was going to find herself a new place. A better one, a bigger one; two stories so Holly could have a place for herself too. Perhaps, even a three stories, and they would get cats, Holly loved animals, especially cats… She paused for a second, and frowned. Holly. She must stay here while she was at Elliot Manor.

A chirping from her laptop broke the simmering velvet tranquility that Tom Waits provided, along with her musing. Her head whipped to her left, and on the slick screen she saw two men standing at the front door. Within the same instant, she climbed on her feet, throwing the glass on the counter. The crystal glass shook and then toppled, splattering the pristine plaster with crimson. Selina didn't spare it a glance as she ran towards the front, yelling to Holly, "Holly, back to my room, take the Taser gun and hide. Don't come out." Quick and gracefully she positioned herself by the front door, and when she heard the lock break she didn't hesitate. Spinning head over heels, she delivered a round house kick to the first man's head, sending him down for the count. The light glinted off the barrel of a gun, and she barely had a moment to dodge as the soft pop of the silencer filled the air. A second later she swept the feet from under the rather surprised looking intruder. Grabbing his gun, she aimed at his knee and fired.

She watched passively as the blonde dropped to a crouch clutching his leg and collected the gun from the other guy who was twitching just enough that she knew he'd be awake soon. "Stop this, bitch," the wounded man barked, his eyes flickered to his downed friend. His bloody fingers poked at him. "Hey, Mikey, you 'kay, man?"

Mikey grunted a ruffled 'okay', and muttered, "Fucking slut!" as he rose clutching the side of his head.

Selina looked at the men coldly, keeping the barrel of the gun aimed between them. "Turn around and go." She tilted her head at the bleeding man. "Before you ruin my carpet."

"You're coming with us. Mr. Andrews wants to talk with you," the now fully coherent brunette stated. She arched one eyebrow, all the worry flying away. If guns hadn't been involved, she might have even started laughing.

Granted, this wasn't what she had expected, but she had been waiting for something of this sort, Mr. Andrews wasn't someone to let things go easily. And if he wanted to talk, then perhaps they should talk.

Her eyes found the blonde's, and she opened her mouth but her words stopped as she heard a thud, and the man in front of her fell. Leaving Alex standing there holding the barrel of a Barrette.

She stared at him as he used his weapon to knock out the loudly protesting blonde, the gun in her hand now was aimed at him, and she didn't lower it.

"You said you only wanted to see me again when you were in trouble."

"I wasn't in trouble."

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes lowering to the men on the floor. His gaze lingered for a moment on the one ruining her carpet. "Their—boss wants to talk to me."

"Business?" the Ukrainian asked.

She gave him a look. "What are you going to do?" he asked then.

She lowered the gun, but didn't answer, instead walked to him, her eyes never leaving his. "You're putting both of us in danger."

He didn't even blink. "I know."

Shaking her head, she sighed, and stopped beside the bleeding man on the floor. "I warned you," She ripped his shirt, and moved the material to staunch the blood. "Don't say I didn't."

He simply nodded in acceptance. "You were—you were late."

She slowly nodded back. "Holly," she called, her eyes still fixed on Alex. "Bring the first aid kit."

Seeing her old nightmare in the hall, Holly stopped dead in her tracks, the kit clutched limply in her fingers. "Come here, my dear," Selina called to her softly, smiling encouragingly. "He won't—he can't hurt you anymore." _No one_ could hurt Holly now, not as long as she breathed.

Holly didn't move though, and her eyes were wide with fear. Alex murmured, "I never wanted to hurt her."

Selina gave him a look of loathing. "Shut up."

"Do you want me to go, Selina?"

"I keep telling you the answer but you don't listen."

"I saved you today."

"Are you expecting a medal?"

He glared at her, muttering "bitch" under his breath, then turned on his heels. She watched him leave then closed the door behind him. Her eyes caught on the broken lock, and she sighed. She was going to have to change it, and John was certainly going to hear from her. This... this was never supposed to happen.

Holly moved after Alex left, and silently wrapped the the unconscious man's wounded leg. Selina knelt and rummaged through the pockets of the goon Alex had knocked out. Finding his phone, she straightened.

"What are you going to do, Selina?" Holy asked, mimicking Alex's question.

"Their boss wants to talk to me," she repeated, then smiled. "Well, I'm going to talk to him, Holly."

* * *

"Are you bringing the package?"

"No, I'm afraid they're not," Selina answered apologetically, "They've had a bit of trouble."

"You—" Scrawny started but she didn't let him continue. "Mr. Andrews, I'm—honored to have all this testosterone at my disposal but if you wanted to talk with me you could have simply called me."

"What happened to my men, bitch?"

"Please, there's no need for name calling." She smiled.

"Where are they?"

"Well, one of them is currently ruining my handmade Persian carpet," she answered letting out a big sigh.

"Hope you didn't call to bitch about your carpet."

"No. You wanted to talk with me, and oddly enough I want to talk to you too. So let's talk." There was silence on his end and she continued. "What did you want?"

"Do you really think that you can make a fool of me?"

"Hmm, I believe we've reached the part of the conversation where you threaten me and I threaten you back, so let's cut to the chase. I've got an appointment today with my manicurist and I don't want to be late."

"Do you really—"

"No," she cut him off sternly. "The question is do _you_ really think that I would decide to make a fool of someone like you without a back up plan? Mr. Andrews, I know why you sent this charming company instead of some other parties." She laughed. "I know how you purchased those little kittens too, and I have to add, I find this possessive streak so ironic when you don't have any respect for others'." She took a breath and went on quickly, what had worked on Alex should surely work on this man too. "I have a waiting dossier in a disclosed place to be sent to certain parties in the case of my disappearance of more than a day." Her voice turned to dark as she whispered. "So I suggest you to tread carefully because I don't take threats well." For proof, one could always ask Bruce Wayne.

"You can't—"

"Mister Andrews, I can, I _really_ can, but it isn't necessary. I didn't call you to give a lesson about morals and ethics nor did I call you for threats. In fact, I called you to make you an offer, to square things. Now, why don't come see me so we can—talk further."

He remained silent, so she said with a mockingly petulant tone, "Mr. Andrews, they're really ruining my carpet."

"I'm on my way," the collector said.

* * *

Selina stood on the doorstep, a modest smile splitting her face. "Mr. Andrews," she greeted the man coyly, "I'm so glad you decided to accept my invitation, please," she held the door open and stood aside, "do come in."

Mister Andrews gave her a suspicious look, but stepped inside. His feet halted as he walked into living room, looking at his men, handcuffed with plastic zipties to the radiator. He turned to her. She shrugged. "Just a precaution, please, take a seat." She waved her hand toward the couch and watched Andrews walk to it.

Once he sat, he pointed at his men with his head. "What happened to them?"

Selina let out an extremely sad sigh. "A little accident but they're fine. I've tended to them personally."

"They're—"

"Unconscious," she said before he could complete the sentence and asked gently, "Would you like a glass of wine? We were having Chardonnay before your men interrupted." She waved her arm at the wall that was stained with wine, and called for Holly. It was too late to keep her hidden now. If Andrews had found her, it also stood to reason that he had found out about Holly's existence. It was the best if the collector understood that Holly was in. "Holly, dearie," she said smiling at the girl, "Could you please fix a glass of wine for our guest?"

Holly smiled back, and went to kitchen as Andrews objected, "I'm not here to—"

"No, please, Mr. Andrews, what happened today has worried me. We might have treated each other in a less than perfect manner but that can be easily amended." Holly returned with the glass, and offered it to him, her innocent, big smile on her porcelain doll features. The old skinny man looked at her as Selina continued, "Please, take the wine as a token of our good will."

Mr. Andrews arched his eyebrow, and turned his eyes to her. "Really?"

Selina sighed, and motioned to Holly. Holly brought the wine to her. She took the glass, and took a sip. "See?"

Holly returned to Andrews, and offered him the glass again. "We don't aim to hurt you, Mr. Andrews," Selina said, carefully keeping the plural, "We want to do business with you."

"Business?" he asked, accepting the glass.

"I said I wanted to make things square and I meant it." She took the glass Holly had carried to her and turned to sit on the armchair the opposite of the couch, settling down in a perfect imitation of Melina's queenly air; the years spent observing her had paid off in unique ways. Holly stood behind her, leaning against the back. "There is no poison in the wine, but I must say that you trust very quickly."

He frowned. "You drank this too."

She smiled back gently, swirling the glass in her hands. "But Holly didn't." His face froze, his hand lowered, and he set the glass on the side table next to the couch. "There are many kinds of poisons that take hours show up in the body of the consumer." She glanced at the glass before her eyes turned back to him, "But I heard there is a poison that mixes with the blood a few minutes after consuming, and if the antidote isn't given within the first stage of the poisoning the chance of recovery is very slim." Her eyes still fixed on him, Selina smiled further, and watched as Mr. Andrews sputtered the wine out of his mouth.

Holly let out a laugh, and said cheerfully, "It's a good thing then, that there is no poison in the wine."

She lifted her head up, and smiled. "Yes, dearie," and her eyes found the man again. "It's a very good since we our aim really isn't to hurt you. We want to be friends with you, but—" Her voice hardened, as she glanced at the men down on the floor, "If you ever again try to do something like you tried to do today, I'm going to have to reconsider that decision."

"I can make you very sorry just for this—"

"Careful, Mister Andrews, I warned you once, and I won't again—" She pushed her shoulders back, her lips forming grim lines along her mouth. "I don't take threats well. I'm trying to be civil here, are you really going to make me regret my decision?"

He stayed silent, then slowly said, "You said you wanted to make things square."

"Yes," she agreed. "I have a proposition—" she paused for a pregnant beat, "to ease certain financial problems."

"I wouldn't have financial problems if you hadn't poked your nose into my business."

She smiled as if she had received a compliment. "I'm not sure of that. I heard things—but it isn't important. You certainly know the rule better than me; finders keepers. I found it and—kept it." He shot her a glare, which she ignored. "But I'm talking about a more legitimate side of the business." She leaned forward and then asked sweetly, "Mr. Andrews, how do you feel about getting some early payments from the insurance companies?"

His face remained neutral for a second, then a thin smile broke on his aged lips, "Not very bad, actually."

"Excellent," Selina replied back.

* * *

Standing up from where he crouched down in front of the door, John observed his latest handwork. "All right, it's done," he said, and went on, "I upgraded the security, and replaced the cameras, and I also replaced the lock with an electronic one, you're gonna to have to use a pass card."

"Can't we use a biometric lock?"

John arched his eyebrow. Selina was always hard to impress, and always had the funniest requirements but John had already learned not to question her wishes. His eyes skipped towards the hall, stained crimson, before they returned on her. "I guess I can line something up."

Selina gave him that smile, the one that always accompanied an 'excellent', so John wasn't surprised one bit when she said, "Excellent." There she was, never disappointing. "Now, tell me, how good you are with biometrics?"

John dropped his head. Soon he was going be very busy.

Standing over the confines of the old building, the police officer Lionel Larchwood looked at Andrews Manor. With ancient bricks held by cement, grout, and history, the massive structure looked so intimidating that the young officer couldn't even manage to dream up something as simple as people watching the Super Bowl, cuddled on a couch in front of a TV in this house. Turning around, he mentioned this inability to his partner, but instead of the nod agreement he'd expected, he received a tense glare from the older officer.

"That's because," Adams commented, "if Andrews ever decided to watch the matches, he'd surely do it in a lobby reserved specially for him, where he can smoke cigarettes, and drink whiskey, while his long legged dates fawn over him, not on a couch in front of a TV, Leo."

Lionel sighed defeated. Sometimes he didn't even know why he bothered. Always a cynic, and a spoilsport, his partner had no sense of humor, nor he had anything resembling to the ability to make smalltalk. "Leo," he said, and Lionel grimaced. He hated the nickname, and he hated the notion of diminution behind it even more, but somehow Adams had decided that Lionel was a much heavier name than he could carry, so he had said it'd be just better if it had been Leo, and since then the name had simply stuck. "You'll talk with the maids, and the butler, I'll talk with Mr. Andrews." They started to walk to the main entrance of the mansion. "The others will arrive shortly anyways, so perhaps we can even catch the match."

He nodded. The Gotham Rogues were having their most important match of the year this evening, and he knew Adams was more than his usual standard of cranky for the prospect of missing the game. He also could understand.

The announcement had come just before they had started to return to headquarters at the end of their shifts, after wasting another day off in the ever-secured Palisades. Things were always peaceful here, always tranquil, the ugly side of Gotham hid entirely under a veil of wealth and prosperity. The patrols here were just a formality, a false front that no one really wanted or needed, Lionel had gathered that during the first minutes of his first patrol along the confines. There was after all a reason why they always kept their distances, always trailed along the neighborhood's borders, the patrol cars would ruin the scenery, and there weren't any burglary or domestic disputes in Palisades anyways.

That was why they both had been more than a little surprised fifteen minutes ago when the radio cracked, and the dispatched voice announced the burglary case in the massive manor in front of them. And here they were, walking into the massive winged doors, as the first responders, which made things even more satirical.

Officers Larchwood and Adams being the first responders… Maybe it was an omen, good or bad was the thing that Lionel hadn't decided yet.

x

It was a bad omen, Lionel decided an hour later, definitely a bad one. The match had already started, and according to updates coming to his cell, it looked like they were losing. He looked exasperatedly at the butler, and then to the artist who was making the charcoal drawing. A woman's head had already appeared on the paper, face covered with a mask, her head adorned with pointy ears, her nails resembling claws… this was stupid... Just stupid.

He turned to the butler again. "You say she called herself Catwoman—?"

The old man didn't miss a beat as he stiffly answered, "Yes, officer, as I already told you." His gaze skipped toward the drawing. "I went to the study, she was there, and the safe was open. She said she was going to borrow Mr. Andrews' House of Pazzi jewelry collection which was already in her hands, and that she was sure he was not going to mind it."

"And she called herself Catwoman?"

"I'd asked her who she was," the older man paused a little, "and she said 'call me Catwoman."

Lionel sighed again, his eyes skipping to the drawing. "Cats…"

"Well, sir," the butler paused, and stole another glance at the drawing. "She looked very—feline."

Shaking his head, Lionel left the butler to find his partner.

He found him in front of the study, together with the Mr. Andrews who was already talking with the insurance company's people; people Lionel was sure, that also happened to be private detectives. The crime lab had already invaded the study, checking for evidence, as they waited outside for the news.

They looked at him as he approached. Lionel stopped next to them, fidgeting. He hated being the center of the attention as it made him remember the time they had played the Animals of the Forest in the primary school. He was the ant, and he had only one line, he was to come and say 'there's a fire in the forest' then run away but he'd come, and stopped in the middle of the stage, and looked at all faces looking back at him, and the words had vaporized in his mind. He ran off without saying a thing. The play had ended up being the worst one that the Gotham Primary School had ever put on, all because of him.

When Lionel looked at the faces looking back at him, suddenly he felt once again like a seven-year-old. He opened his mouth, and no sounds came out. He closed it and tried it again, this time they followed with difficulty, "She calls herself Catwoman."

Their looks grew even more direct as Mr. Andrews cried, "What?"

"Catwoman," he repeated, "she calls herself Catwoman."

Adams sighed next to him. "Oh dear Lord, not another one."

"The security I can understand to an extent, but this safe was supposed to be uncrackable," the insurance investigator remarked placidly, not interested with the latest news. "Alongside the password, it was also adjusted to your finger print, and voice pattern. How did she manage to open it?"

Mr. Andrews threw the man a dark glare. "Are you asking me?" he growled out. "I should be the one who is asking you."

"We're going to research it, Mr. Andrews," the investigator's co-worker responded, giving the gaunt man a stiff look, "I can guarantee you that."

"You'd better, Mr. Lawrence."

"Gentlemen," Adams moved in between them, "Is there anything else you need to mention?"

They shook their heads. "'Kay, then we're going." He turned to Mr. Andrews. "Sir, the Crime Lab here will do the necessary investigation now but you'll have to come in to sign your written testimony, and the official report." Mr. Andrews nodded. "We'll come back later, Mr. Andrews."

The man of the house nodded again sharply, his attention still fixed on the insurance guys. Lionel almost wanted to spring up. Coming out of the manor, Adams grunted under his breath. "Catwoman," the old man shook his head. "First we had Batman, then the Clown, now this, _Catwoman_…fucking city…" While older man rambled, another message arrived in his inbox. The Rouges had lost. He rested his head against the car's headrest as Adams drove away.

"You know, I've always wanted to be a fireman," he remarked after a while.

"Fireman…?"

"Yeah."

"You watch a lot of porn, Leo," Adams replied, laughing.

He closed his eyes, asking himself why he even tried.

The next morning he saw the charcoal appearance of their crazy city's latest fancy criminal plastered on the front page of all the newspapers, with big letters announcing Batman had found himself another freak.

* * *

Sharp eyes narrowed in a glare, Valerie looked at the headlines and the silhouette of a slender woman below them. Above her head were two shapes resembling cat ears, and Valerie swore that the figure's breasts were even more generous than their real life counterparts. It had already started.

Shaking her head, she read the headline, her voice dripping with sarcasm: "Catwoman: A new foe or a new friend?" She scoffed, throwing the paper down on the table. "Since when have thieves been dubbed as friends?"

Bruce shrugged, casting a glance at the newspaper on the table. "Well, no one has attempted to steal from the Palisades until now. They are—curious."

"They'll turn this into a Robin Hood fantasy." She pointed a finger at him. "Mark my words, Bruce, they've found themselves a new—toy." He didn't comment this time, instead he took a sip from his cup. "Well, at least this time she did her own damn legwork."

His gaze hardened and a scowl tightened lines along his mouth and brows. "Just because she wants to… play, she endangers herself and—me."

"Don't worry, she won't rat you out even if she's captured." Her lips flattened in a grim line. "She wouldn't want to lose her leverage that easily."

He turned toward the window and stared at the grove lying beyond the glass. Her mouth flattened even more. She didn't like that look. No, she didn't like it, not even slightly. "This's started to be more than a game," he remarked as his eyes turned back to her. He pointed at the newspaper. "Andrews, she stole from him—again."

"I'm sure she has a good reason," she bit off.

He stood up. "We need to learn what she's up to."

Valerie stood up too, closing eyes her eyes momentarily, before she exclaimed, "Bruce, _please_, tell me you're not thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking."

"Valerie, she's not seeing the dangers. If she keeps this up, she'll get hurt."

"Bruce Wayne, you're not serious." She paused for a second to look at him. "Oh, god, you are serious."

"Valerie—"

"Darling, hello, she's made you do her dirty work, and you're worried about her."

"Valerie, she isn't thinking right. Selina has never been one to think rationally, but she's playing with fire now."

"And we care because?"

He gave her a sharp look. "We care because that's what we do."

"She blackmailed you!"

"And?"

"And what?" she yelled back. "She can ruin your life snapping her fingers." She lifted her hand in the air, and snapped her fingers, "Like this," and again, "Just like this."

"Just more reason to protect her—" He shot back. "She also holds my secret."

"I'm telling you. She won't give up that!"

"How do you know?"

"Because I wouldn't either," she cried out, "I'd try to use—" She stopped abruptly. "Oh!" She let out a sniff. "Oh, so this is where we draw the parallels?"

"Do we really need to?"

She shook her head. "That was different."

He arched one eyebrow. "Because it was you?"

She didn't answer. Bruce moved closer. "Are you—"

Shaking her head, she cut him off. "Okay, Bruce, I get your point. You made it crystal clear. Selina and I, we're both idiots, putting ourselves in messes bigger than us, and you, of course, have to help us, no matter what, because you're a damn fool hero who just can't say no." Her face lost the sober look as she gazed at him with a small, affectionate smile. Then she moved closer and hugged him fiercely. "And I wouldn't want you any other way."

She rested her head on his chest as he hugged her back. "I just wish your new damsel in distress would be someone else."

He pulled half an inch back. "Val, don't be stupid—" He bowed his head to give a kiss on the tip of her nose. "My only damsel in distress is you, only you. Selina is just—" He paused for a second, "—like that pea princess."

She giggled. "Annoying?"

"Oh yeah." He took her up and started to carry her toward the bed, his lips already on her neck, kissing her open-mouthed. She let out a moan as he eased her down on the mattress. She pushed upward and caught him by the belt. Throwing herself backward, she pulled him down.

Once they were settled, she pulled her legs apart to accommodate him, and intertwined them around him. As her arms coiled around his neck, she whispered heatedly into his ear. "Never change, okay?" She tightened her grip, and kissed the angle of his neck. "Please, never change."

* * *

_He he, I hope you didn't think that I was drawing all those parallels between Selina and Valerie without a purpose :p Getting Selina in the same position of Valerie as in the beginning of the story was my aim, as I really wanted to play that idea, Bruce being 'once a hero, always a hero' :)_

_For clarifications, what Selina is doing now is an insurance fraud, the staged burglaries to collect insurance money. I thought that should suit more to her scheming personality than plain thefts._


	27. Ties That Bind

**Chapter Twenty Three: Ties That Bind**

* * *

"_The softest stomach of Gotham's wealth, the upper side of the East river has been on everyone's lips these days because of the cat burglary events it has had to endure for the last two weeks_," Vicki Vale reported on the late evening news as Selina sipped from her cinnamon tea, watching the report closely from a secluded lounge in Papermoon. John was positive that she wasn't under surveillance but she needed to be careful now, _always, _and there was the matter of Bruce Wayne too. He hadn't come to her, not yet, and Selina was surprised, and well, a little bit disappointed. She had been looking forward to their second round. Had he finally admitted defeat or was he planning something? She frowned. Perhaps she might need to make her presence known again. It wouldn't do any good for him to _forget_ about her again.

"_One of the prominent citizens of Gotham, the very first victim of the chain of thefts talked to us this afternoon, expressing his concerns for the latest events._" Vicki Vale vanished and the skinny bald head of the Mister Andrews appeared, his eyes clouded with worry as he talked in a slow rhythm. "_These acts aren't just a Robin Hood fantasy like some people are thinking. That woman—Catwoman, as you call her, is threatening the very foundation of our society._" Selina turned to Mr. Andrews, who sat opposite her, drinking slowly from his wine. "_This isn't just about victimless crime," _he went on,_ "Crime in any capacity can't be tolerated._"

"You should get a star on Madison Avenue, Mr. Andrews," she commented, "for your top notch performance."

He glared at her above his glass. "You're the one who turned this into a freak show, Ms. Kyle. Our deal was very simple."

"Simple," she clicked her tongue, "is not my thing."

He sighed. "You never told me how you've dealt with Batman."

Placing her cup down, she let out a slight laugh. "He doesn't seem to share your opinions about crime, Mr. Andrews," she said. "He thinks some of it is tolerable, I guess. He's got so many problems after all; a few burglaries in the Palisades certainly aren't worth his time."

He looked skeptical, but didn't press further, instead he said, "Mr. Welkin wants his—merchandise."

"I told you," she answered, her playful tone vanishing instantly. "I'll only return the merchandise when I get my fair share of the insurance money." She paused to give him a hard stare. "Tell Mr. Welkin to sell the story to insurance inspectors well, then payment will come."

"I already did," he answered.

She shrugged, "Tell him again, he doesn't seem to get your point."

He nodded in agreement. "Mrs. Adler was asking when you would drop by."

"Soon," she answered shortly. "She needs to pick up an opera date for next week."

"Okay," he nodded again. "Are you sure the safe and security systems aren't going to be a problem?"

She arched her eyebrow. "Have they _ever_ been?"

"How do you manage to get through them?" he asked, intrigued.

"Mr. Andrews," Selina smiled. "I have my ways."

* * *

After she departed her ways with Andrews, Selina decided that it was the high time that she paid a visit to the racketeer. She had received the money from Hollis at the beginning of this week, and it was better to finish it now, for the first time, finish something before its course was done. The racketeer had served his purpose, and there was nothing to gain from him now, unless… Drumming her fingers on the wheel, she thought about how Thomas fared with his business.

From what she had heard from the barmen she had bought; not good. Thomas was rather distracted by something else, like her with Bruce Wayne. She let out a low laugh. It was fascinating, really, really fascinating how much Thomas hated Bruce. It had only taken a few well-placed words at the right time to rekindle the old wounds, and flames, and here again, Thomas was creating another invisible enemy once again.

Never mind, she snapped at herself, shaking her head. Playing with Thomas had always been entertaining, but business came first than pleasure now. She still had to entertain Thomas though; the fool had only two settings: when he wasn't aroused and frustrated, he was always curious. And she couldn't have him curious—not now, not when things were this—delicate.

Holly, she thought abruptly, she had to stop Thomas from seeing Holly. If he learned who she was… She grabbed the wheel, tightly, her mouth setting in a grim line as her knuckles turned white. Then, right at that moment, she realized something else. The circle, the circle was broken. Thomas wasn't her priority anymore. There were things far more important than him.

Her hands started shaking, and she pulled the car along the curb, her heart pounding madly.

Blood drummed in her ears, so loud in the silence, and Selina realized that for the first time after a long time she was scared.

* * *

Sitting inside the blue Hyundai, Bruce looked at the familiar three story house as Valerie exclaimed from the passenger seat, "Derrick Malkin!" She waved her hand toward the house, which Selina had just entered. "What's the hell is _she_ doing with Derrick Malkin?"

Good question.

Her meeting with Andrews had been baffling but this topped even that. Andrews and she seemed to have a thing together, a plot of something that he hadn't still interfered but only had watched. The racketeer, though? Bruce wondered if this was something about Thomas. He and Selina had had this lustful dogfight, as Valerie called it, going on for years, but it was apparent that she had had Thomas for good this time; she had come to the family brunch. Bruce had witnessed her victory, _personally_.

As if sensing his thought, Valerie asked, "Do you think it's about Thomas?"

He scowled as lowering his camera. "I don't know." And that was why he needed to have Selina under surveillance. She was the least unpredictable person he had ever met, and that was telling given the companies Bruce had fought in the past, not to mention the company he had been living with. But with each of them, there had been at least some sort of pattern that could be anticipated, even with _him_, but with Selina everything was a wild guess.

He could think of a thousand different reasons for her to do something, and Selina Kyle would still come up with one thousand and one easily.

He allowed himself a brief sigh, checking his watch. "Okay, time to return. Tavian and the Russian are meeting in an hour." So many things to do, Bruce wanted to sigh again; so many things to do but so little time. He didn't have time, he had never had enough time. And soon he was going to need to tap Selina's house too no matter how Valerie would feel.

Things were getting out of control. He could see where this would lead, and the knowledge brought that dreadful feeling deep in his stomach, and left a sour taste inside his mouth, because it had _never_ led to good things before.

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Derrick had seen a beautiful woman trying to make an impression nor was it the first time that he'd seen one succeeding. After all, all of his life had been a sum of three women who had made strong impressions on him, but there was something, something he couldn't exactly put his fingers on with this woman.

And it disturbed Derrick. He always needed to know, always had to understand… why Jasmine needed time, why Jessica had to leave with another man… His eyes skipped to Selina Kyle, and for a second, Derrick thought that if it hadn't been for Georgina, he could have fallen in with her.

On the leather armchair opposite of him, she was sitting how someone of her class would; someone who born with good luck, a good appearance, and a good amount of money to sustain them. Derrick knew that she hadn't been born into wealth, but she simply exuded the manner that she had with that spoiled socialite exterior she carried so easily, so naturally. Selina Kyle seemed insouciant, without struggles, without troubles, even while sitting in front of a racketeer.

In his line of business, Derrick had come to know the wealthy. His usual clients weren't, as most assumed, the poor that needed a quick influx of cash, instead most of them were from wealth that needed liquid assets for some reason or another. They made the best business associates since Derrick didn't really like to _impress_ the poor who were ready to sell their own blood to pay the bills for their children. The gamblers, drug addicts and such weren't his preferences either; he liked to think of himself as a business man. And there was no point to venture into business if you weren't sure about the returns.

Then again he had made a gamble with this raven haired woman sitting in front of him, a gamble that seemed to work itself out in the end. His gaze flicked to his computer's screen where the numbers declared that his half a million dollars had returned, together with the fees.

"Mr. Malkin," she stood up, and approached him, "I wish I could say I _wish_ we could do business once again, but I'm sure you'd know I was lying if I did."

And here that thing again, Derrick thought standing up as well. Despite the carefree attitude she presented flawlessly, the woman had that cutting edge—a wild smug smirk in her suave manners, almost mocking, and a glint of something, a threat striking in her eyes quick as a flash, and all things considered it was probably was intrigued him the most. She was alluring, not because she was beautiful, nor because she seemed to be insouciant. No, Selina Kyle was not simply either.

Selina Kyle was the woman who could use even Derrick Malkin to get what she wanted.

* * *

Behind the window of their bedroom on the second floor, Georgina watched the scene below, Lodi a few feet behind her. She wondered if the man was seeing what she saw.

At the first glance, the farewell ceremony seemed normal, almost ordinary, of course, if she could look over the fact that Derrick himself had come to send his _guest_ off.

Upon second glance, the anomalies grew. Their manners, both always courteous, seemed strangled, as if they were trying to weigh the other's powers and strength. She'd seen Derrick in such a state before, assessing and marking his own territory, his domain-Derrick was a natural king, the Lion of the forest, his nature couldn't accept anything less-but that wasn't what worried Georgina.

What worried her was the look she had seen in Derrick's eyes, the way he looked at the dark haired woman. It looked familiar, and she had to be blind not to see what it revealed.

It was the same look Georgina had seen in Derrick's eyes when he'd come to see her every night, watching her in silence as she did those things above his crotch, his eyes glinting with a faint smile, staring at her motionlessly like she was the center of the universe, and all the universe would collapse if he'd dared to blink even once.

The want, the need, the desire to keep that rare thing rose strongly within her, along with the cruel memories of being abandoned; the little bride no one wanted.

Her fingers itched, as a fury mixed with jealousy, and hurt, and betrayal. She fisted her hands as she turned from the scene, from the reality unfolding before her very eyes.

Slowly, she walked to her vanity and took out her phone. If Derrick's love was passing, she knew what was coming. She'd seen it countless times, she'd heard about it countless times. Derrick was her everything, the light of his love was her everything, and if it was passing now, what would _she_ become? Again, abandoned, even the wedding wasn't yours; _the real bride_ coming to steal away the glory. Was that what was going to happen to her? Again?

"_No_," she whispered aloud. "_Not this time."_

She held the telephone in her fingers tightly, until she gathered enough courage to release them, and send the message.

Not this time. This time, she was going to be the knight in shining armor, this time she was going to be the savior. This time she was going to be the one who was going to be fawned over, who was going to take care of someone, and soon enough she was going to be center of the universe for someone else.

* * *

Valerie stuck the earpiece in her ear and saw Bruce following her example from the corner of her eye. Tavian was a man of habit, and she couldn't be any happier about that fact at the moment; the old warmonger had arranged the cozy locale that was still tapped for their backyard gun show.

Thanks for small mercies, and they needed these mercies now, more than ever, especially when Selina had brought things to another level. They were going to need to tap her house, Valerie knew, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't ignore Bruce's suggestion any longer; just following her around wasn't enough anymore. Bruce was right, they needed to learn what the witch was up to, but just the thought of him watching Selina's every movement... until the last part of her privacy, from the bathroom to the bedroom... No, she just couldn't do that.

Whatever the hell Selina was doing, whatever kind of schemes she was setting up with those burglaries, at least now she was doing her own _legwork_. Bruce had left her alone too, sort of. He still _chased_ after her on the nights she was seen, but so far he hadn't intervened. The more suspicious thing was that, well, _she_ had left him alone too. Valerie couldn't help but wonder if Selina knew he was after her. Probably. Whatever the reasons Selina had for starting this, Valerie was sure that she was out to get Bruce's _attention_. Valerie had seen the glint in her eyes, had seen the intrigue there. If Bruce wasn't going go to her, then Selina was going to come for him. Valerie knew she was. Selina wasn't someone to lose things, unless she wanted them lost. No, Selina wouldn't want to lose what she had found. But what she had found was something Valerie couldn't let her _steal_.

Her gaze skipped toward her precious one, and she saw the darkness under his eyes, the tight lines above his brows, the grim lines along his lips… he worried too much, he had so many things to worry about, not only things that she had herself caused personally, but mob bosses, psychopaths, thieves, the police—goddammit! _The police! _How she could have forgotten them?

She had truly begun to understand the circumstances Bruce had been living with for almost three years now. Things were always tangled up, without any real resolution. She had never had an easy life herself but she could always take respite whenever she wanted, she had always had a way out. Now, nothing was simple, and however much they tried to pretend otherwise, she knew nothing would ever be simple again.

* * *

Several miles from the cave, the boss of the Russian mafia, Yuri Dimitrov waited for his old friend to arrive, and hoped he had pleasant news. He had no care for bad news anymore, even in the context 'bad news, good news.' It had been almost four years since the first time Batman had been seen in their fair city, and since that time the citizens of Gotham with less than perfect reputations were having a difficult time with finding good news. He had turned things into 'bad news, worse news.'

Tavian, an old man from the old days, walked in, and two of his men walked behind him. Dimitrov let out a puff of his cigar, and took a big sip from his Russian vodka, and waited until he found him.

Ten seconds later, he did. An old man deep into his bones, yet the old motherfucker's eyes still worked like the first day.

He settled at the other side of the table, waved his hands to dispel the air, and commented, "Give up those fucking Cuban buggers, Dimitrov, whenever you smoke one, I can't see you."

Wordlessly, he pressed it down on the ashtray. There were rules, even if people seemed to forget them these days, they were rules, and Tavian was older than him, in every sense of the word. He could kill the negotiator in his sleep but couldn't decline a personal request—a request that had nothing to do with the business.

"Two days, on the 20th Street East Bank, we'll see the samples."

"Type?"

"Semi and full automatics."

"How old?"

"Cold war era."

"That's too old, Tavian."

"Only suitable option now," the Ukrainian snapped back. "If you're not interested, you're very well welcome to use your own connections."

He grated his teeth, although not exactly at Tavian; this fucking city was getting ridiculous. "I kept my end of our bargain, Dimitrov. Did you look into ours?"

"Yes," he answered. "I found a couple of candidates, doing the background checking now. At the end of the month you'll have a name."

Tavian frowned. "We would appreciate urgency, this business is important."

Dimitrov gave him a questioning look. "Why did you take this boy under your wings, old friend? What's your deal with him?"

"My deal," the old dealer replied, "My deal, like every other time, is money, Dimitrov." He knew it was a lie, but didn't press on, on professional levels Yuri Dimitrov was a curious man, he had to be, but on personal levels, he didn't like nosy people.

So instead he said, looking ahead, "Iran is hot, those motherfuckers will be a lot of problems, I heard there are talks about an embargo over in Washington, need to be careful anyway. There will be a lot of gas problems before the end of the year. Egypt's still a mess, Libya's gone, Syria is hell, and Iraq—" he paused, "who the hell knows anything about Iraq anymore."

"The boy is a visionary," Tavian commented. "I told you, we need to change direction. The times are, unfortunately, a-changing."

"Yes," Dimitrov said simply, there was no other option but to accept that; for better or worse he still wasn't sure, but times were changing, things weren't as they were used to be. Tuning his mind off the immaterial prospects, he turned to more practical problems. "This new cat burglar? Heard anything about the little kitten?"

Tavian scowled. "As eye catching as she is, a petty thief who steals from the rich is—not my area of interest." He arched an inquired eyebrow. "I wouldn't think it'd be yours either, frankly, Dimitrov."

"No, no, it's not. It's just… you know, eye catching, it's hard—not to notice her, the cat suit and all."

Miles away, in the cave Valerie fumed, and Bruce fixed his unwavering gaze on the wall, careful not to meet her eyes. "Batman?" The Russian asked then.

This time they shared a glance. Tavian's shrug was obvious as he answered, "Heard nothing after he broke into Arkham."

"I can't understand why he did it. Why break into Arkham for only a couple of minutes?"

"Hear anything from the police?"

"My sources say he abducted someone—but they couldn't figure out who it was, or if there was any truth in it. Perhaps he just came to finish off the thing he'd started." Bruce glared at the screen hard, his jaw set in grimace. Valerie sighed; she so needed to deal with this 'murderer' problem. She already should have done so.

"Well, my sources say," the old warmonger answered, "He abducted the Scarecrow then sent him back to the Commissioner."

The Russian paused for a second, then he slowly asked, "Do you think he's still after the son of a bitch who loosed the fear pills on the streets."

There was another silence over the line, and Valerie didn't need to see to know that Tavian was nodding.

"Then he'd better hurry," the Russian said.

* * *

"You need to call Gordon," the words came out in one breath, in a confident rush that had Bruce turning his head and glaring. "You need to call him," Valerie repeated, not giving an inch. "This stalemate between you needs to end. We can't afford it anymore."

His glare hardened. "I don't need—"

"You don't need him?" She shook her head. "Bruce, be _reasonable!_ Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried to catch a mob boss? You got shot."

"It won't happen again," he stated.

She leaned forward and softened her voice. "Bruce, honey, we're pressed on all sides. We need help. He's on your side. I know you're still angry at him, but he's _still_ your friend."

"Batman hasn't the luxury of friends."

"Bullshit." He glared at her again. "And since we're on the subject, let's talk about another stupidity of yours too."

"Valerie, I won't have that discussion."

Not backing down, she folded her arms under her chest. She wasn't going to let the _small trifles_ deter her from the problem any longer. Not anymore. He shouldn't carry that burden, he should never have carried it in the first place. Logic, she needed to start with logic. Bruce always listened to logic, even when he didn't want to. "This heroism costs you your competence. It took months to catch the Irish, we're still looking for that fear drug, and we still haven't done anything about the Russian. You can't fight on all fronts all the time." Especially now that the other side had Selina Kyle, but she left that part unsaid.

"I can."

Letting out a frustrated grunt, she threw a napkin at him. "You don't have to. You need to work with them, not run away from them."

"I'm an outlaw."

"You were a tolerated one before."

"Valerie—"

"No, don't _Valerie_ me. Too many things happened and we got carried away, but I didn't forget about it. I told you it was going to open up to discussion, and I'm doing it now."

"Okay," Bruce said, leaning backward. "Okay Valerie, make your defense. I'm listening."

"Okay, then, listen to this." She leaned back too. "Have faith in the people of Gotham."

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? I have faith in them."

"No, you don't. You used to, but then you sacrificed it to your victim syndrome. Batman isn't a revenge thing, and I believe in your objective, but honey, you're losing it. You say people need dramatic examples to shake themselves out of apathy. You donned the mask for that purpose, you're not afraid to fight, but you can't fight for everyone. People need to stand for themselves."

"Yes," he agreed, his gaze fixed ahead on the far wall but Valerie could already see the wheels starting to turn in his mind. Good. She pressed further. "You—you're stealing that fight, you and this White Knight image. I told you once, heroes don't exist, there can be only people like us because—well, we can't be anything else—But heroes—" She shook her head. "This shouldn't be an example of a man that kills the dragon, saves the village, and people make songs for him… Bruce, don't you see what's happening?"

He looked at her but remained silent. "It only takes a few days for Selina to understand what happened that night, only a few days, and asking a few questions. There are things—questions no one asks, because no one wants to. They've fallen into apathy again. I myself fell into that trap too. I had better reasons—"

"What do you mean?" he asked, his scowl deepening.

"I wanted you to be like me, Bruce, and I closed my eyes to the rest. I didn't search, I couldn't do so thoroughly, I was in hiding, but that's an excuse. I entirely overlooked the gun issue, like the rest of the people. I disregarded it because it was easier that way. I—_wanted_ you to kill those people because you felt it was justified. It means you're like me—not someone—someone, not someone like you are." She let out a soft sigh. "When Alfred told me, it—changed things."

Bruce nodded, but still kept his silence. She turned her eyes away. It took almost a minute before Bruce finally spoke again. "I agree—" He halted for a second, "theoretically." She snapped her head back at him. "You're right, the—situation pushes people into apathy but Valerie we have more practical problems. If we make it public, the prosecution would lose its case, then the appeals will follow, and the majority of the people we've put away will be out to the streets. We'll lose our advantage—think about it, the prosecutor himself being a criminal—"

Shaking her head, she cut him off. "No, no, he was a victim—he was a _victim_ too. People will think him of as one. He killed those people not because he was comprised, not because of monetary reasons—he killed them because they killed—Rachel—" She looked at Bruce. His face was the same, she continued, "and blew up the half of his face. He was after revenge, justified revenge—I'll say it again; revenge is a human thing, you can connect to it, you can understand it, not forgive but understand, it's—humane. You can't be a bad person suddenly just because you kill someone." She paused, hesitation creeping into her voice. "Do you—do you think I'm a bad person because I killed someone?"

Bruce shook his head agitatedly. "No, of course not—"

"Because you _know_ me, because you understand me—Bruce—I can never forgive myself for what I did, but I can understand too. People will too. Some might even forgive him." His eyes turned to the wall far ahead.

Valerie sighed again, stood up from her seat and knelt before his legs. She placed her hand over his knee and turned his head to her. "You placed your faith in me when every reason indicated that you shouldn't. Trust your people again, Bruce, they won't fall. Both boats remained intact, they didn't blow them up. I'm not disregarding what you think, I'm not being impractical. Some of them will get loose, yes, but we can raise awareness—" She paused to nod to herself, as if she was setting her mind on the idea. "Yes, we can start a campaign—you're the news—the Bruce Wayne Foundation—we can use it to make a public opinion. I'll be damned to say this but that tart-in-suits is good when it comes to talking about justice and honor." She smiled and squeezed his knee. "And the rest that make out to streets, Bruce, we will be there to catch every single of them, every single one."

He looked at her. "Valerie, when you did become this—?"

"Responsible?" she asked back with a faint laughter. "Cautious, wary—?" She shrugged. "I guess you're rubbing off on me in the right ways now."

He smiled, it was faint, but it was there, and Valerie realized she was winning this time. She thought about it a second, then decided to go with the killing stroke. It was better to use up what she had now that she was under his skin. "There's something else," she remarked, standing up.

He lifted his head up to look at her. "What?"

"Bruce, don't feign clueless, please, it really doesn't suit you."

"Oh, we start shoving again."

"The Joker knows the truth, and that Scarecrow guy knows it too. What do you plan to do when one of them manages to make the truth known to the public? How do you think the people might feel if they learn the truth from the Joker himself?"

Bruce's expression turned to stone. Bingo, she thought, mentally nodding herself. "Think of how furious you were when Thomas told you I spent the night with Dylan. Can you say your anger had nothing to do with Thomas's involvement? Can you say you would have reacted the same way if I had confessed?"

A flicker of something passed over his features before it was shut off again. She was _so_ winning this argument, finally, finally, finally. "You couldn't. It matters from who you hear the truth. It matters a lot." She crouched between his legs once again. "You're a smart man, Bruce Wayne. I know you're already thinking—dreading that prospect. You carry the fear like Damocles' sword hanging over your head. You need to get rid of it."

She stopped talking, and the silence stretched out between them until he slowly said, "It's the price to pay for anyone who sits on a position of power, Valerie."

She nodded and decided to pull back to give him his space to ponder what she had said. "All right, I won't push you, Bruce, I won't." She paused. "I just want you to consider the facts. I don't want you to disregard them entirely."

"There will be always some other fears."

She grabbed his hand, and squeezed it. "You're not someone who will back down from his fears. You're not."

"Why does it matter to you that much?"

"Are you really asking me that?" she asked taken aback. "You have to protect Gotham, and well, I have to protect _you_."

He looked at her, his gaze unwavering, not even blinking, he looked at her, through her, and like always, she could only look back. Then he took out his phone, sent a message, and settled it on the armrest of the chair.

Her eyes lowered, and she read the message.

_Your offer. I'm taking it._

"I'm doing it," he said, and something—something big, enormous, and heavy lifted off her chest. She closed her eyes, her heart fluttering madly with happiness—a smile blossomed on her lips—he was going to—he was going to—"Do you know why?" he went on before she could answer, before she could even open her eyes. "Because of you. Because you want me to. You don't want to see me hurt, Valerie, and I don't want to see you hurt either."

Smiling wider, she blinked the tears away, and gave him a slight shake of her head. "Argh, don't get mushy." She stood up and reached for her own phone. "We'll do lovey-dovey later. Now," she dialed a number, "I have to meddle." She gave him another happy smile then turned to the phone. "My dear detective, how you have been?"

* * *

Ground Zero was how it had been; a monument of clay, cement, and iron, reminding people of what they had lost; a desperate relic that looked like more like an eerie graveyard than anything else. It was no wonder that his feet had brought him here.

Gordon didn't know how it happened, after the message he had exited out of Headquarters, he couldn't stay there, he just couldn't, and apparently his feet had carried him here.

The criminals were always drawn to their crime scenes.

His mind forced itself to go over that day, despite his struggles, and he remembered the rush, the desperate flight against the clock, then everything was a blur. His mind went blank but his nose still picked up the scent of sulfur mixed with agony and misery as the darkness around them exploded with red, painted red, fires raining down from above, the apocalypse upon them.

The memory brought him down to his knees. He braced his hands on the dirty pavement, tried to find his balance, and felt beads of sweat running down his back. Trails of sweat ran over his body, and he could feel it as they dropped on his hand from his brows, and weeping out of him, taking the fear and the shame.

He was going to confess. He was going to be free.

Lost in his fervor, his hands searched wildly for his phone. Barbara. He needed to tell her. He needed to. It wouldn't bring her back, nothing would bring her back, but he still needed to tell her. She needed to know. Barbara had left, after Garcia's press conference, when he had returned his home had been empty, desolate. She had left, taking everything that mattered with her. The house was still cluttered with furniture and necessities, but his home was null, what made the house a home was gone.

Gordon hadn't wept that day. That had been his punishment, but today was the day for absolution.

* * *

Her lips split in two with a smile, as Elena looked at her phone, her only cord to freedom, and life again.

"_I'm going to save you, Elena."_

The message seemed not-like-Georgina, she was always the cowardly one, countless pleadings and imploring had always been met with a wall of fear and cowardice, something had served Georgina, if she had to honest with herself; while she had been used in the most disgraceful ways, Georgina had been wrapped in cotton wool and fawned over. But the certainty and determination of her message gave her hope, and if Georgina had somehow been tangled in her 'rescue' then it meant she was going to be more open to manipulations.

Her features sobered, her smile vanished as her thoughts delved into possibilities. She had to be realistic. If she was going to save herself, she couldn't dare think about anyone but _herself._ Her eyes moistened but she held in the tears, and steered herself. Katya was a necessary sacrifice, Georgina was a tool. She didn't want her broken, but if it was the only way, the only way to be free, she was going to have to consider it.

Georgina hadn't lived through what she had endured, hadn't seen the things she had seen, hadn't seen the cruelty of humankind, and what it could make to a person. Her time was coming, and her life was not going to end here, not in this shit hole, simply put out of commission.

She wanted to live, live in peace, in a small town, in a simple cottage, breathe in the scent of sea, the smell of fresh air… She only wanted to live. Who could judge her for that?

* * *

_Eh, old friends return, as together with the plot. Did you think I forgot about it, yeah? :)_

_This chapter has a special place in my heart, because, the talk between Bruce and Valerie about killing and Dent situation was one of the (many) reasons that had me write this monster of a fic._

_Until the next part, be well._


	28. The Truth - Part I

_A/N: Hello. According to my first draft, this part of the story was also supposed to be a giant arc about Dent Act that starts Gordon, Ramirez, and Vicki Vale, as I deal with what happened in the second movie and 'Contact' but somewhere in the last year, I found myself not wanting to delve into it deeply for some personal reasons, my focus instead shifting to other things, (mainly to Bruce and Valerie, and Selina) and this hasn't changed since then. So the theme 'then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free' is still applicable, but instead of a giant arc, I'm gonna deal with it with a little bit 'superficially'. If you have thoughts, or problems, or something, let me know. God knows, I've got them myself, too._

_Enjoy._

**Chapter Twenty Four: The Truth**

**Part I**

* * *

Thomas looked at the photos in front of him. The man looked the same, high forehead with a widow's peak, stocky body with a sagging tummy, he didn't look anything like someone would have expected in his line of business, and even though Thomas hadn't known him on the day he visited their manor in London, Thomas knew his father.

Rupert Elliot always hired the best.

Hollis had resigned his job a month after their case, and started his own investigation company, Eddie had added with a dry laugh, and drily commented, 'the Hunter got hunted.' His erstwhile sibling and the man were keeping in touch, and there were recorded conversation about something called 'twin cats'.

Thomas hadn't understood any of it, of course, but he had learned to be cautious when he dealt with Selina. She was up to something, Thomas knew it, and whenever Selina Kyle was up to something, it was always Thomas Elliot who ended up with the short stick.

_Glitter, foil, and laughter filled the ballroom, masks covering faces, intentions veiled with polished manners. His eyes caught on the only other face that wasn't covered, the high forehead lining the crown of his head, the eyes glinting with a hint of intelligence. He was smart, he knew, at least he was smart enough to find his father's coin collection, and he was smart enough to come to a masquerade without hiding his face. _

_However, the lack of the mask wasn't the reason for his attention. No, his attention was directed at the company he was keeping. Her back was to him, but he didn't need to see her face to know that it was her, it was unlikely Selina would miss such chance to play; masks and all. Selina was the only one who would come to the party _dressed_ like that._

_As if sensing his stare, she spun around and walked to him all in her leather-majesty; the spandex of the costume accentuated her assets; dark waves of hair framed her masked face; her smile was rapturous. "Brother," she cooed, "You have no consideration for theatrics."_

_Giving her a leer, he countered, "You have them in abundance."_

"_I was merely inspired," she smiled and looked around and spotted his father. "I mean, look, even Rupert is in the play."_

"_He's just happy to have his collection back."_

"_Who wouldn't be?" Her eyes flicked to the man she had left behind. "All thanks to Hollis."_

_His gaze followed hers, and fell on the investigator, before he bit out, "Already on a first name basis?"_

_Selina cocked her head, the lace mask following her motion, "First name basis? We're already in the second phase."_

_He gave the man another look before turning to her. "How nice."_

"_Jealous?"_

"_He isn't your type."_

"_Smart?" Selina asked mockingly. He scowled, she laughed. "Admit it. He's brought a new breeze into our life."_

_His eyes found the man again before he accepted reluctantly. "Well, he's certainly made an entrance into our little play."_

"_And he knows how to get an audience." He cocked his brow. Selina took a step forward before speaking again, her voice dropping into a husky whisper. "His stories... He was telling me about this couple. One day, they issued a complaint to the insurance company that their family heirloom had been stolen. The insurance company called ALR. They started an investigation, and it turned out that the thief they were looking for was none one other than the husband. He had debts, so he thought if he could get away with it he could get the insurance money first then sell it again on the black market." She laughed. "Crafty, isn't it?"_

"_Didn't work though, did it?"_

"_Because the man was greedy," she said in all seriousness. "Nosce te ipsum." She halted for a second. "Melina told me about Rupert."_

_The smile wiped off his face. "And?"_

"_I'm sorry to hear it," she answered like she really meant it._

_For a moment, he believed it, he really did, but then that moment passed. "Selina, what's your point?"_

"_It's—sad, that thing really belonged to the husband."_

"_Selina," he said with strong emphasis, thinking for a moment that he had understood her wrong. "Selina—"_

"_All the things he has also belong to you, Thomas." She moved closer. "Doesn't it make you feel—angry?"_

_He moved forward, and the frown on his brows deepened. "What's that you're getting at, Selina?"_

_She gave him a look, behind her veiled face, then smiled. "It's just—"she paused, and then pulled the mask off her face, and held it against his, "It's just—when you look through a mask—" Thomas looked at her through the mask as she whispered into his ear, "Everything seems different."_

* * *

"_Do you see why crime can't be tolerated, Miss Vale,_" From the recorder sitting on her desk, Mr. Dale, the head of Crime Pact, asked, "_Because if you let it...bad examples...This clown...you can't—_"Vicki stopped the tape and rewound. "_Because if you let—_"his voice cracked again but this time she managed to decipher the words, "_it causes bad examples. Take the clown. Liberals object to the death penalty—_"

"_The death penalty isn't a form of punishment, Mr. Dale,_" her voice said from the recorder. Vicki faintly smiled upon hearing how curt her answer had been. "_Punishments aim—_" She stopped the recorder again and went to get herself a glass of wine. If she needed to deal with him again, she was going to need some help.

Preparing herself some cheese too, she glanced back at her living room. Papers were scattered about, covering every surface, and the spaces left between them were filled with tapes, some already used, some new, while clothes peeked out from under tables and chairs and everywhere in between. She really needed to tidy her flat, soon. Perhaps now. For a moment, even the prospect of cleaning seemed better than dealing with Dale, but her editor had talked in very certain terms. Though, Vicki had a feeling that Mike wasn't going to like what he saw.

Sometimes she just couldn't help herself.

She wondered if the report was going to meet the same fate as her interview with that poor girl or like her folder on the Anti-Dent Act Platform. She frowned, her grip on the knife tightened as her anger reawakened. The knife slipped and she cut a bit of her finger instead of the cheese. Throwing it away, Vicki cursed aloud, and brought her finger to her mouth before bending down and rummaging inside her cupboard with her other hand to find a band-aid. She was a journalist! She had a column, had her own news program. She had to do something, something good—something better with them. She had reported from living hells on earth. She had returned to make a change, had returned not to make the same mistake twice. She had seen the worst of worst.

The world deserved better. Gotham deserved better. And what had she gotten? She had uncovered the truth and had been punished, forced to comprise for a reward. "We can't do this, Vale," Mike had said, "Your reports have already caused enough problems," he had said. "I can't protect you if you keep this up."

The omission of truth, Vicki knew. _Can't protect myself if you keep this up._ And Vicki already knew about the preservation instincts of men that were thirsty for power. Don't get me into trouble, or you'll be discharged. Grimacing she wrapped the plastic over her finger and returned to table, carrying the plate and her wine.

Time, there was a time for everything. Soon, soon she was going to be free of them, every one of them. Soon. She was going to be a real journalist, who only sought truth and justice.

In the meantime, she was going to do what she always did, she was going to struggle. She restarted the tape.

* * *

He had missed the rooftops, Gordon realized as he looked on the city below. He had missed the wind, cracking at the skin, he had missed the city lights twinkling, he had missed the quasi tranquil scenery that you saw from above, from a perspective was that so out of touch that everything seemed like it was going to be okay one day, everything.

Barbara hadn't called him back, but that was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He could believe that once again.

He tightened his grip on the package he was holding.

And there he was, emerging out of the shadows, like they were part of him, and staring at him, shoulders hunched, gaze unwavering, body exuding a threatening power and barely controlled aggression, and Gordon realized that it was nostalgia what he had missed the most; his companion of the night. "How are we—"

"Not yet," the Dark Knight cut him off, the words spoken in a guttural yet clear rasp, something he hadn't heard for a long time. "The Russian is to meet with a new arms dealer, in two days, on the 20th Street East Bank. Get your men ready."

Gordon nodded, "The evidence?"

"Not much, we'll catch him red handed."

"Wouldn't it better if we went—public first?" he asked.

"We need time," Batman answered matter-of-factly. "We can't get ready in two days. Did you get the tape from the security cameras?"

Gordon nodded, and extended the DVD to him. "It shows Ramirez and Dent together, Dent holding her at the gun point. This is the only copy. I'd destroyed the rest."

Batman nodded. Gordon thought he had probably already known that. "The plan—do you have something in mind?" Gordon asked.

"Yes."

Gordon waited for him to continue but he didn't. Didn't trust him yet with that much, and the thought squeezed something in his chest. Three years of fighting, struggling, battling, and all he had achieved was a false safety that was built on a lie, based on a deceit, and nothing more.

Well, no more. Now it was time to find the truth.

* * *

Before she finished transcribing, her phone rang. Absentmindedly, she reached out to her mobile, and saw on the screen the number was unidentified. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she answered it, "Yes?"

"Vicki—" her name was uttered in soft but rich female tones that sounded familiar even though she couldn't exactly place the voice. "Hello again."

"Uh—hello?"

"You don't remember me, do you?" the voice remarked disappointed.

"Well," Vicki said, "My memory usually is pretty fine, but, no, I'm afraid, I don't."

"That's bad," she commented, "I thought of us as—partners. We made quite the accomplishment together."

For a moment, Vicki stayed motionless, her breath caught in her throat... could it be her...? The voice that time had been distorted, even though Vicki recognized the feminine tones she couldn't have been certain. "I waited for your call," she said, "after he got caught."

The woman stayed silent for a second, and when she spoke the next, her voice had lost the amused tone. "He didn't get caught, he surrendered."

"Does it matter?" Vicki asked even though she already knew the answer.

"Yes."

"I wanted to make a report for Sandra—" Vicki confessed in a whisper, "I felt we owed at least that much to her." She noticed her hands pulled into fists, remembering the little girl stuck in a woman's terrified yet still hopeful figure.

"What happened to it?"

"They didn't let me."

She was silent again then she slowly said. "There is something else I want you to know. Something else I want people to know," she amended with strong emphasis then her voice carried an edge, like a warning. "They probably won't let you do it either."

"What is it?"

"The truth, Ms. Vale," she answered without missing a beat, "the truth that will set all of us free."

* * *

Valerie smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles of his dress shirt, tied his bowtie and pulled back an inch to observe her work. "You look dashing, honey, try not to hurt too many hearts, and say I was feeling lightheaded for tonight's entertainment."

"Don't worry, I'll tell them I wore you out."

She smiled. "Nice."

"Did you talk with Vale?"

"Done," Valerie confirmed. "She was in shock at first, but quickly recovered." Valerie frowned, trying to decide if she needed to tell him about her attempts to make a report on Sandra but then decided against it. Bruce was already troubled enough, no need to make him more...distressed. "She did interviews with the Anti-Dent Act Platform," she said instead, settling on the more practical issues, "but they didn't get published. She was pissed. She's a good person," she added after a thought, "dedicated to do right."

"That's why we decided on her, right?"

Valerie smiled little, and brushed his hairline with her fingertips. When it was about him, she couldn't trust anything else. "She was doubtful, understandably, but after I mentioned that we have a witness—a police officer, she came on board." She halted for a second, and then started hesitantly, "Bruce, we should keep the Commissioner out of this. Ramirez alone would do. I didn't mention we _also_ have a tape. We don't need to drag Gordon into it."

His face closed, and he took a step backward. "He wants to confess," he remarked, and his voice wasn't emotional or accusing, just mechanical.

"Because he's a good man," Valerie pressed. "He wants absolution."

Bruce remained silent for a while, and Valerie saw the sorrow in the depths of his eyes. "He's a good man," he repeated her words, then finally dropped his 'Batman has no luxury of friends' attitude, and confessed, his eyes still holding that sorrowful look, but now also full of that determination that was unique to him. "Valerie, he—was very important to me...He—took care of me—at the night my parents were killed, in the police station. He stayed with me until Alfred came... He gave me his coat. If—if we're having a clean slate I want him to forgive himself."

She nodded, mentally berating herself for not thinking of it before. Bruce didn't get close to people easily, unless he was connected to them in some way, and he was connected to Gordon, he was connected to him more than she had realized, more than he himself had realized. "Bruce, he can only forgive himself if you forgive him," she said. "Keep him out of this and he will know you do."

She didn't mention the practical side of the issue, as this wasn't about it; it was about Bruce and Gordon, and their own—issues, but still, they still had to be a little bit—practical, things were getting even more complicated, only a fool wouldn't see it. They _needed_ Gordon. "You brought him in this position," she pressed further as Bruce's mouth flattened. She wouldn't back down. Not now. "Both of you lost enough. There is no reason for any more losses." She paused to take a breath and went on before Bruce interrupted her. "Ramirez's testimony and the images from the security cameras are going to be enough. We don't need to use his confession."

Without moving, he scrutinized her carefully. "Are you sure Ramirez will agree? You're asking for her to lose everything."

She didn't move her eyes away, and held his searching stare. "Yes, but in return she'll regain one very important thing."

"Which is?"

"You know it. Gordon isn't the only who is asking for forgiveness."

"So you could convince her?"

"Honey," she shook her head, "you know... I can be very convincing."

The tense air shifted, and Bruce gave her a heated look. "I know."

Smiling, she took a step forward. "Now, you go and rock that party—" She frowned, giving him a once over. "On second thought, don't_._"

* * *

The next day, before noon, Bruce was ready to finish the preparations. Pushing the latest designs for the Tumbler aside, he took the utility belt and started filling it with the necessaries. He would really like to have the tumbler once again while dealing with mobsters, but there was no such luck for him tonight.

Hunched over the blueprints of the warehouse where the Russian was going to meet his new—servicer, her face set in decisiveness, her eyes holding that determined glint, Valerie was making her own preparations. She had been studying the plans since noon, over viewing every escape route, the weak points, and the b-lines. She was worried, agitated, even though she was trying to play it cool, and he knew it. But frankly, she had every right to be.

It was his first _co-operation_ with GCPD in months, even though most of them weren't aware of it, and they both knew how it had been the last time. Bruce felt much better knowing when the police were going to show up, if everything went to according to plan. Unfortunately, the plans had a tendency to change.

That thought reminded him of the other plan. "Are you sure Ramirez won't be there tonight?" he asked, putting the belt aside.

Not lifting her head, Valerie nodded. "It's her day off. She also has a date."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. A date? That didn't seem like 'according to the plan.' If Ramirez was involved with someone then... "She's seeing someone?" he asked.

"For a while," Valerie answered then quickly assured, "Nothing serious. They went out a few times." She frowned at something in the plans in front of her. "He works in a bookshop. They met there. I researched him. Clean. He's a little bit funny, but clean." She lifted her head, and gave him a look. "I'll see her tonight."

"Tonight?" That wasn't anything like 'according to the plan'. She had to be here, when he was out, she needed to be here, in the cave. Not only because he needed her –and he did– but he needed to know she was safe.

As if sensing his thoughts, Valerie rolled her eyes. "Don't start worrying, I'll return before midnight." He opened his mouth, but Valerie beat him to it. "Hey, stop brooding. This is just practice for you. What could possibly go wrong?"

Bruce wished she hadn't said that.


	29. The Truth - Part II

**Chapter Twenty Four: The Truth**

**Part II**

* * *

"No sight of the police or _him_, Matyev."

Matyev turned, and nodded at Ivan. Of course. It'd have been easier if there had been_. _Finding the police waiting for a friendly gathering, missing the time of the rendezvous, or finding _Him_ hunched over the rooftop like a gargoyle over Gotham Cathedral, silent and ever watchful . Or just plain jumping on them, and beating their asses, no need for any _foreplay_. But, no, that would be much too simple.

"Matyev," the youngling next to him started talking again, "What're we waiting for?"

He didn't particularly know, and Matyev didn't like it, didn't like the eerie security. To their left was the grand East port with its city lights gleaming over the mucky gloom, the air was scented heavily by polluted salty water and the usual sounds of the night echoed across the waves. A wind blew, and carried the scent of the sea even closer. No. He didn't like this.

And that just sucked.

When one had spent fifteen years in Gotham's under belly, one learned the importance of listening to gut feelings.

Next to him, Ivan started fidgeting. Good boy, but he needed to learn play it cooler. He lacked experience. Greatly. And that was the reason he was there with him. The guy was good, but he still had a long way to go, a lot to learn. The problem was that learning in Gotham was usually a lot like throwing kids into a shark infested ocean to teach them to swim—some managed, and too many others didn't.

His head turned, and his eyes traveled over the gloomy shark infested waters looming over him, and not knowing what kind of land-sharks might be there had his hand moving to his back pocket. Dangers always lived in Gotham, meshed with the darkness, and one had to be careful.

Always.

"Matyev," Ivan called again, and repeated, "What're we waiting for? It's clear."

Something wasn't right. He didn't know what. But something wasn't. His hand tightened over his gun, and he squinted. Was that something moving? He blinked, drops of sweat forming on his forehead. Something wasn't right, the darkness moved again...

...Or was he just being paranoid. Wasn't that what Alexandra had called him before she moved on? A fucking paranoid ass.

His grip lessened, and he brought his hand to wipe his forehead, then murmured, "Nothing."

Nothing. There was nothing in the dark. No police, no Batman, no land-sharks.

This was going to be a picnic. A small gathering to make the acquaintance of their new business partners, to see the _samples_, and to get Ivan a little bit of experience.

What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

As a true Gothamite, Mrs. Adler lived in one of the tall buildings in Madison Avenue that had been constructed before the Great War. It was an intimidating structure, from its old bricks, to the massive man clad in a dark red uniform standing guard at the door. However for Selina, those were just little nuisances that needed to be dealt with.

The problem were the locks on Adler's door, two Segal and one Baldwin. Segals were child's play, but Baldwin could have caused some problems _if_ she hadn't known about them ahead of time. Selina had changed the locks of her living room to the same type of Baldwin that secured Mrs. Adler's sweet home from the not-so-law-abiding citizens like herself, and had been working on it non-stop ever since. Last night, she had come close to opening it in under three minutes, and the next time she was determined to get it done in under two.

The biometric keypad that guarded the safe was going to be a problem though. Thinking of which, she really should go back and start to work on it. John should be there in an half of hour, and the trip from Madison to her apartment wouldn't take more than fifteen. Given her unusual route for her nighttime activities, it would surely take more, but not more than thirty.

She lowered her binoculars, and attached them to her utility belt.

The wind blew, tossing her hair, and carrying the scent of ocean. Closing her eyes, she smiled at it, her blood running wild. She didn't want to turn back. There wasn't going to be any... misbehaving tonight, there was still time for that later, but she still didn't want to go back. The wind was so good, the night was so cool, and this was where Catwoman belonged. Her eyes closed, her lips curved and she thought of him.

Was he out there too? The Dark Knight.

The Dark Savior running after the big bad wolves. Or her? Was he running after her? Her eyes opened, and traveled around the cityscape.

He was out there, waiting, and Selina couldn't wait for their second round.

* * *

The only person there who didn't look like a shark was Ivan, Matyev decided. A moment of self-doubt seeped into his heart, but Matyev blocked it out. The boy had to grow up, had to learn. It could have been worse. He'd had worse.

The warehouse was bigger inside than outside, and he wondered if the little greasy man standing next to the old Ukrainian warmonger had something to do with it. Possibly. Matyev would have preferred neutral ground, but the Ukrainian had said the man wouldn't have taken it. Matyev wasn't surprised, their kind had as much courage as newly born puppies in the Siberian wildness.

Dimitrov picked up the old AK-47 ceremonially from its case, and propped it on his shoulder. The hand that held the rifle's butt caressed the brown matte there, as a smile appeared on his cracked lips. "They don't make them like this now, da?" his head turned to Matyev, then to Ivan. "You ever held one of these beauties, son?"

Ivan shook his head. "No, sir."

Dimitrov nodded to him, "Matyev, give him one. Make him a real man." He shook his head. "The Americans never appreciated the grace of Kalash."

Next to him, Tavian shook his head. "No, they appreciate it. That's the problem," he continued, seizing Ivan up, "They appreciate it nicely—" He paused for a second, "only under _certain_ circumstances. Reputation, as they say nowadays, is everything." He gave his dealer friend a look, "Isn't that right, Mr. Simon?"

"It's always been everything," the dealer remarked with faultless English, "It hasn't always been as deserved as this, of course."

Matyev handed one to Ivan, who supported the rifle with inexperienced hands. Simon turned his eyes to him, amused. "First time, boy?"

Ivan gave the dealer a look, a look that made Matyev very proud. The greasy man laughed silently. Dimitrov turned to Simon. "How did you came across—" his hand waved over the metallic cases where the weapons from their mother country sat, "these?"

"I know people." he answered with gentle smile, and Matyev frowned. Something wasn't exactly right here. He wasn't sure if it was something about this man, but something... was... not... right. _You're paranoid, Matyev,_ Alexandra said in his mind, _wherever you look, it's always enemies you see._ A sigh escaped from his lips. The greasy man turned to him, and arched an eyebrow, "Problem?"

"No," he sneered, "No problem." No problems. No sharks.

Tavian cleared his throat, "Err, I believe you told me you had something else for us too, Simon."

Simon turned to him, waved his hands to make them follow him. They walked around the van, and one of the dealer's men opened the door, and another set of metallic cases appeared...then he heard it. _Thud!_ His neck snapped up, looking at the air vents that circled the ceiling above them. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?" The dealer asked back.

_Thud!_ "That!"

Dimitrov and Tavian shared a glance that wasn't lost on him. "Don't you hear it!" He exclaimed, reaching for his gun. "There is something in the air vents."

They all looked up instantly, and listened to the... silence. "I hear nothing," Simon said, a hint of urgency creeping into his tone, "Can we move on, _please?_"

Matyev gave Dimitrov a look. "Boss?"

"I'm not hearing anything. Matyev, you—" He extended his hand toward the case to take one of the pistols, and what he was going to say next went unsaid. A blade, an all-too-familiar bat-shaped shuriken, cut through the air with a hiss and hit his hand. With a screech he dropped the gun.

Then next moment the lights went off.

_Fuck being paranoid! Being fucking paranoid!_ Matyev threw Ivan behind him, and hid behind the van's door. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dimitrov and Tavian were doing the same from the opposite side, while the dealer and his men stood in the middle. As a last attempt, they threw themselves inside the van, and started shooting blindly in the darkness. "Stop," Dimitrov cried. "You idiots, stop. Call the police. _Now!_"

They stopped, and silence fell. Next to him, Ivan's leg started shaking. "Is it..."he slurred, "was that...Batman?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Is he...is he...going to kill us?"

He gave his young friend a look, a look mixed with worry and uncertainty but before he could say anything, a voice, a raspy voice grated behind their back, "No." Matyev closed his eyes, dropping his gun. It was too late now. "But that doesn't mean he's not going to hurt you. _A lot._"

What happened next, he didn't even see, a shadow moved, and he felt it more than saw it. Next to him, Ivan shouted with a cry of pain, and before he could turn, his legs lost contact with the pavement, and a fist cracked under his rib, then hit him at the knee and shoulder. His breath escaped from his throat, and a fit of burning pain hit him. Dropping to the pavement, he barely registered how many of his bones were broken in five seconds.

The end of his cape caressed his shoulder as he moved to the other side of the van, the shots of the rifles echoing. Fools, Matyev thought, on the thin line between consciousness and blackout. Fools. "Ivan-?" he managed to utter.

The young boy whimpered, but answered, "I'm...fine. Was that really Batman?"

He tried to snicker. "Yeah, that was the Batman."

"He was taller than I expected."

Another set of shouts reached to them, along with Dimitrov's screech, "You son of bitch, you son of a bitch, we called the police."

The guns stopped, and the next second, pieces of them scattered along the floor. "Too late," was all the masked man said before disappearing in the darkness.

Out of the darkness and the silence, the warehouse flashed with red-and-blue and screamed with sirens.

* * *

Her fingers curled tightly around the fire escape's ledge, and bracing herself for the pain, Selina pushed herself up. The muscles in her calf protested _loudly_, and Selina hissed under her breath. Okay, that wasn't how she had remembered. She had always praised herself being lithe, her body had become very elastic after the years of practicing, but apparently she still needed to do better.

Sturdily, she climbed higher, silent as a tigress and slick as a snake, and wished Monsieur Francois could see her now. The old danseur had been her childhood nightmare, together with broken nails, blisters, and brushed flesh. Smiling, she stopped at the last step. This part she knew better, all thanks to the Monsieur. She threw her leg over the other side, and just to show off to _herself_, she flipped back to the rooftop. Her feet swayed first, and she raised her hands to her side for balance, and crouched down. A second later, she had sure footing, and poised herself at the edge of the rooftop, smiling wider.

She certainly knew this part better.

Momentarily she wanted to test her abilities, just to see what she was capable of. Her eyes rose up, and she stared at the darkness. She needed to practice. If their dance had started, she needed to show him all of her _en pointe work_. This was only the beginning.

She gazed down. The whole world was under her feet, and the only thing she needed to do was to take the leap. Her fingers brushed over the whip she had circled around her waist, as the familiar sensation, the adrenalin rushed over her, the wind blew her hair, and over it Selina shook her head, her hands tingling inside her gloves.

_Time, there is time for everything_, Melina's voice echoed in her mind. _Never rush things._

Scowling, she tuned out her mother's words. Though, she was right of course, as always. There was still time, and she had always been a quick study.

Throwing her legs over the edge, she sat down, only to feel the wind over her face, only to feel the sweet caress of freedom over her skin.

Then behind her closed eyes, she saw the red and blue, and heard the sirens. Her eyes popped open, her body falling into a defensive position, she climbed to her feet. She turned to the source of the interruption, and understood that the sirens and lights weren't for her.

Behind the mask, she squinted into the darkness, and walked to the left. Leaping at the notch that held a flag, she propped herself on the flag's pole. It seemed big, even from her vantage point, it seemed big, and if the police were involved, then Selina knew who else might be tangled in it too.

Smiling even wider, she uncurled her whip, and jumped.

* * *

Sirens wailing, lights flashing, and a cluster of at least fifty police officers buzzing around, Bruce stared down at the alley, watching the police take the few Russian mobsters, Dimitrov, and the dealers into custody.

He heaved a sigh, his hand pressed on his left side. One of the gun shots had grazed him, nicking the armor, and his skin had already started throbbing, but still, it was much better than the last time.

Feeling apparently the same, Valerie sighed in his ear with satisfaction then laughed. "Don't you love it when plans go according to—plan?"

Yes, yes, he did. No complications, or unnecessary hindrances, or unwanted consequences, a job as clean as a new born baby. He opened his mouth, but stopped hearing a soft cracking behind. He turned and saw Selina saunter out of the rooftop door, a big smile on her red lips.

"I take that back!" Valerie exclaimed, and Bruce knew, he just knew, it couldn't have been that, just a normal night of—vigilantism, no, it just couldn't. Not anymore.

"Another day perfectly saved," Selina purred as she approached, mimicking clapping. "Congratulations!"

Valerie murmured something that sounded like 'her big return'.

He glared at Selina. "What are you doing here?"

Carelessly, she lifted a shoulder. "I was just—passing by, heard the sirens, and thought I could look you up." She smiled further. "You know—impersonating a cat and whatnot... I was hiding here before you boy scouts were done with Corleones. Well done, by the way."

He gave her a silent look. She laughed. "What? You'd expect me to come to your aid?" He didn't respond, Valerie grunted loudly. "Just throw her off the roof, Bruce."

This was getting ridiculous, _really_ ridiculous. Selina approached the roof's edge where he stood, and peeked below. She pulled back after a second, her face soured. "This—" she waved a lazy hand in the air, "must be very hard for you, doing all the work without any credit." She slanted him a look. "Do you want a thank you gift?" She moved closer to his side, giving him a smile. His eyes flicked toward her waist, where a black whip was curled.

Catching his glance, her smile widened. She squeaked with delight. "Oh, you've noticed my new addition! I thought I should finally benefit from all those years of gymnastic lessons. Care to see a demonstration?" Before he could react she untied the whip, raised it up above her head and with a circular fluid motion cracked it, wrapping the end around the door's knob. She yanked the door opened with a thunderous sound, shaking the door in its hinges. Bruce growled in anger. "Oops." She smiled wider, lifting her shoulders up. "Sorry."

Then he heard the police from below. "There is someone above—" Someone yelled. "Bats…Bats is in the perimeters. I repeat Bats is in the perimeters." The police radio burst into noise. "All units report to 20th Street, East End."

"You—" Bruce grabbed her by her upper arm, "You—"

"You're wasting precious time here, dearie. Go on," her smile turned saucy, "save us."

In his ear, Valerie seethed loudly and he severed the link, pulling Selina into his side. He aimed the grapple gun at the next rooftop as Selina curled her arms around his neck, laughing, her body pressed into him. "Hold tight," he grated out before shooting the gun.

In answer, Selina leaped on him, tightening her grip.

* * *

Back in the cave, Bruce was greeted with Valerie sitting on her stool in front of the stations, her arms resting over the counter, and her head placed between them. He sighed, shot a look to Alfred who walked away with a slight shrug. He suspected she had been in the same position since he had severed their link at the rooftop.

He walked to her side, and put his gloved hand on her shoulder. "Val—" He aimed to be sound soft but his voice came out with a faded rasp, "Go to the bedroom, I'll be there soon."

She turned her head aside, and cracked her eyes open. "Has she _whipped_ you, darling?" she asked sweetly. "My connection got severed before I could see, how weird it is that?"

"Very," he answered without missing a beat.

"And by any chance, you wouldn't have any hand in that, right?"

Bruce decided his shower could wait. He gathered her in his arms, and started to walk to the lift. "No."

"If you were a wooden boy, your nose would be taller than the roof now."

"The connection had a problem," he answered.

"Mm…hmm," she said, resting her head on his armored chest. She waved her hand over his face that was still covered with the cowl. "And take that thing off; you look ridiculous under the fluorescents."

Walking out of the lift, Bruce turned off the current, and took the cowl off. Her hand moved to his face, and rubbed the paint under his eyes. "Now you look like a panda."

He scowled as he dropped the cowl on the floor. "I don't look like a panda."

"Like a giant panda," she said again.

"Then do you want to help me wash it off?"

She raised her eyes to him. "In the shower?"

He nodded. "Okay," she agreed then asked again, "Has she whipped you?"

"Valerie," Bruce objected, "Don't talk nonsense." He bowed his head and his lips found her ear. She let out a soft moan as his teeth nibbled her earlobe. "I'm only whipped by you."

"Good."

"Did you talk with Ramirez?"

"Yes," she answered, and shivered as his mouth pressed on her pulse. "She's gonna do it." She moaned louder. "Told you I could be very convincing."

"I know," he stressed out, slid the door open, and walked into the bedroom. "Fox is waiting us to show the Tumbler. Schedule for tomorrow, 'kay?" She nodded. He threw her on the bed. "I've missed you."

She rose on her knees and pulled him down by the other side of his cape. When Bruce was properly on top of her, she intertwined herself around him, and sighed out, "Missed you too."

* * *

Between Bruce's strong arms, Valerie slept—Valerie dreamed—long halls—dim, narrow corridors, empty, her bare feet not making a sound on the tiles, the stale air inside her nose burning her throat. The door of the room at the end of the corridor was still cracked, and she approached it warily, afraid of what was waiting there. She stopped in front of the door for a moment, her eyes riveted to the thin line of light coming from inside. She lifted her arm and pushed the door back.

The light was gone, the gloomy darkness engulfed her, and there was no movement inside, no one. She looked at empty room then her eyes caught another door to her left side. She found another room, empty like before, then another empty, then another one—empty, empty, empty, all empty.

The wind blew through the tightly shut windows, carrying the scent of the lake's water, and the whispers of the night—Her eyes popped open suddenly, she woke up and looked at the ceiling in confusion, trying to remember, and came up with nothing.

Not a nightmare.

No little her, no evil twin, no Bruce, no Jason…

Not a nightmare. Then why was her heart pounding madly? She drew in a silent breath and slowed her pulse. She tilted her neck to check Bruce, and let out a soft sigh seeing his features relaxed in peaceful sleep.

Momentarily she wanted to pry herself out of his grip, but the arms that crossed over her body were giving her that familiar sense of security and she didn't want to wake him with her movements. He needed his sleep, he needed his respite. He didn't need to feel anxiety because of a stupid dream. She rested her back to him, and closed her eyes.

Just before she returned to sleep, she realized with a silent half laugh that Bruce was right. Since when had she become this …responsible, attentive, considerate? Suddenly her breath stopped as her eyes widened. Dammit, the witch was right. She was really getting tame, and she had already started to polish the truth with flatteries.

x

"_I am looking for friends. What does that mean - tame?"  
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."_

_Little Prince,_ _Antoine de Saint-Exupéry_

* * *

_Yup, Valerie finally getting the Truth. Despite I addressed her as 'the Shrew' in the summary, in reality, the taming theme here has always been of 'establishing ties' from Little Prince, which is one of my favorite books of all time._

_When I drafted Valerie's character progress I tried to base her growth according to Maslow's hierarchy of needs; the first two steps of the pyramid-physiological and safety needs were taken in Contact, 'love/belonging' started here, and now it's time for 'esteem' before she comes to 'self-actualization'. But alas, humanity doesn't always take up leaps directly, especially when it's about self-esteem and such, so yes, expect another break-down in the future before things settle again :)_

_I know, I still suck at writing action. Sorry._


	30. Cross Paths

**Chapter Twenty Five: **

**Cross Paths**

* * *

The room was exactly how it was before; bare, stark, pristinely white, and yet still gloomy. With the curtains drawn, the only source of light was a lone bulb that hung from the ceiling. Talia sat on her seat next to bed, as her minions stood at the other side of it, and shot a quick glance at the man lying on the bed.

He was exactly how he had been, too; unconscious but alive, the muzzle laboring his breath, the tubes feeding him from his neck. Talia frowned. Could it be that she had been wrong about this man? He should have woken up by now, the time was coming, and she needed her messenger. Skyfall would be ready in its due time, and now, it was time for her Harbinger to awaken.

For a moment she entertained herself with the prospects of those days, then the next she stopped herself. Patience. Patience was a virtue, and she had to be virtuous, always. She shouldn't let herself make such outlanders' mistakes. Despite their insatiate desire to impersonate the divinity of the mountains, outlanders never understood. The mountains had been always there, and would always be there after their brief lives ceased to exist. Life was only a blink in the vastness of eternity, and life was a dream that you only woke up from once you died. Humanity was fleeting, not like mountains, the only thing that would remain was their legacy. Their legacy. Her legacy. Her duty. _We are stabilizers of Balance. We are agents of Harmony. We are the League of Shadows. _She turned to her minions. "What's happening with the police?"

"It appears the Commissioner has made a truce again, Mistress," Mr. Walden said, "Although we couldn't learn the details," he paused for a beat as a frown appeared on his brows, "yet."

Talia grimaced. Not because of the prospect of _him_ making peace with that pitiful excuse for what passed a lawful enforcement in this country but because of not knowing what was happening. Knowledge was an important agent that she didn't dare lose. Money, fighting skills, diligent minions, they were all next to nothing against knowledge, because the true power came from cognition. "Find out what happened," she ordered, then fixed a glance at Mr. Crews. "There is no darkness but ignorance."

His eyes slightly widened, Mr. Crews looked at her. "Shakespeare?"

Talia subdued her urge to laugh at the surprise in his tone. Perhaps, she had given too much slack to these men. "To know your enemy," she quoted this time from a much more familiar source, "You must become your Enemy." Especially if the enemy was one who was educated by their ways. "I want to know if they have started collaborating again."

"As you wish, Mistress," Mr. Crews bowed his head, but a second later Mr. Walden commented, "The new mayor puts heavy pressure on him to catch the Batman."

Her face soured at the mention of the name, and Talia shot a warning glare at the tall man. "We ask your pardon, Mistress," Mr. Crews said before his partner could say anything.

Talia nodded. "It does not matter what the Mayor orders," she remarked, "Only a fool obeys an order when the order brings nothing but undeserved shame, and gentlemen, it appears the Commissioner knows about shame." Funny as that was, most outlanders could really learn about shame.

"_No." _

_She squinted trying to understand if she had heard him wrong. He didn't crumple under the heat of her gaze, his face remained the same, passive but decisive, his eyes looking directly at hers. Momentarily, she wondered if the outlander actually was the man her liege lord believed he was. The notion soured her, but yet, there was only way to find out. "Sit down and count," she ordered again._

"_No."_

_She cocked her head. "Have you not learned anything at all, outlander?"_

"_I have learned, Ngey Khrimsehsi," he said respectfully, "and it is why I refuse." He stopped only to take a short breath and continued. "I might still deserve punishment but I don't deserve this shame. Do to me whatever you wish, but not—" His head tilted toward the bowls at his feet, one empty, the other full with pebbles, "this. I don't deserve this."_

_She locked her eyes on him. "Sit down, and count, outlander," she hissed, "or else the Holy Mountain be my witness, you shall not live long enough to regret it."_

_He closed his eyes, his face bearing that unique serenity of a man who had long accepted his fate. Then he bowed his head. "Then so be it."_

_She took a step forward and reached to his chin. She lifted his head up. "Who would have thought? An Outlander could learn about shame."_

_Confusion clouded his eyes. "My lady?"_

_She dropped her hand. "Only a fool obeys an order when the order brings nothing but undeserved shame, outlander." She turned and walked to her bed where her armor sat. "It took you long enough," she sneered. "It took me only a week."_

"_My lady?" he tried again, following her to the bed._

"_If you want to be one of us, you need to prove that you're worthy." she explained curtly, perhaps her liege lord was wrong about him. The outlander wasn't a fool, but he was slow. Tiringly, annoyingly, gratingly slow. "Say I told you to go out and kill the first man your eyes caught, would you still obey?"_

"_No," he quickly replied, "Of course not."_

_She nodded. "Because we are not killers." she said and turned to her left where the League's motto hung on her wall. She pointed at the silver canvas. "What's that saying there, outlander?"_

"_We are stabilizers of Balance. We are agents of Harmony. We are the League of Shadows," he dutifully intoned._

"_And a fool could be none of these," she said with finality then pointed at her armor and her sword. "Get them cleaned and polished. Then take them to Master Kylan. And," she showed him her laundry that was settled in the left corner, "Take these to the riverside. Mistress Lalia will show how they must be cleansed. With them, bring also my supper."_

_The understanding slowly lit his eyes, and he bowed his head respectfully, "As you command, Ngey Krimseshi."_

_He gathered the armor and she watched him retreat without another word, but just as he passed behind her door, she called, "Master Ducard." He stopped. His name had felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar and foreign, and if there was a look of shock on his face, she would never know it. And she didn't care. "Be ready for a spar on the lake before the supper. I want to see how much a waste Master Hullain's efforts were."_

"_As you wish, my lady."_

* * *

Footprints on the clay, tiny sprinkles of dust following each step, eyes focused on the newly rising sun, the chill of cool morning gently biting her skin, Valerie ran.

And it felt amazing.

She stumbled a little, but she didn't fall nor did she stop. Though the track was easy, easy to run, easy to follow, there weren't enough obstructions or hindrances. Without a thought, she turned left, and dove into the Wayne Grove.

_Never stray off the path, girl, for that is the price the Red Riding Hood had to pay for straying off the path_, Cathleen's words echoed in her mind, and Valerie laughed.

She jumped through the thick shrubbery, prickly brushes brushing over her skin, and picked up her speed. The wolves couldn't catch her now, but still she ran faster.

Her legs obeyed her will, her speed accelerated, and she closed her eyes… Her feet tripped over a root, she stumbled, inclining toward the brush to her left side, and fell inside. The thorns picked up, and cut her skin, and it bled. It hurt, and her traitorous eyes welcomed the opportunity. Tears fell down as she stood up. She moved a step forward and stopped. Tangled. Shackled. Bound. Twigs and wattles holding her body. She tried to pull herself free, tried to save her tank top from the thin sharp branches. She had to run, she had to save herself. She couldn't stop, if she did, she would get caught.

Her arms frantically waved off the branches that held her captive, the bloody hands tore off thorns, she pulled her t-shirt was tacked into the twigs, ripped the cloth off, and got herself free. Like she always did, she set herself free.

She took a step back, and continued running. The cuts on her body didn't matter, the blood on her hands didn't matter, the ruined clothes didn't matter… The only thing that mattered was running, never stopping, always keeping running, she had to always keep running. A slight hallow appeared in front of her, she jumped over it, and fell, rolling over the earth, rolling over herself, then climbed back to her feet. Then she restarted running. She ran a hand over her mouth, wiped the earth from inside her lips, spit out the rest of it, and hastened her pace.

She ran until her muscles burned, until the drumbeats in her ears muted everything else, she ran until her veins pumped the pure adrenaline in her heart, she ran until her whole existence existed only to take another step forward, and then she ran a little more.

Reality shifted, the world blurred, while adrenalin pumped like battery acid in her veins, she closed her eyes and looked at the world. Water was the first thing she felt, splashing at her burning flesh. She opened her eyes and found herself waist deep in water.

Breathing hard and shivering, she looked at the water that stretched out in front of her majestically, the new sun glinting over the surface… Wayne Lake. She'd run head long into the lake.

The slightly chilled water cooled her as her senses returned, and the world sat back on its axis. She started laughing, her body bent as she cracked up with hysterical laughter, breathless, and she saw the tears glistening over her dirt covered face on the surface. She then threw herself backward, and dove in.

Water closed over her as she found the depths, and she dug her fingers into lake's base, refusing the physics that tried to bring her up, refusing the basic instinct that demanded breath. She just dug deeper.

A scene flashed over her vision, she was climbing out of the ruined car, her eyes finding his across the crowd of people, and his finding hers… Slowly she smiled as her lungs were set on fire, another flash followed, him draping his coat over in the warehouse, clipping her bracelet around her wrist, looking at her, his eyes… his gaze, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen… Her lips pulled out fully, as she unfastened her grip and rose, rose to the surface.

When she opened her eyes, all she saw was the light.

* * *

She was late. Forty minutes and fifty seconds late to see Bruce's latest toy, to be exact and she didn't care. "Bruce." She called as soon as she set a foot inside the entrance hall. He was waiting looking at the wrong side, his hip leaned on the stair case, his head lifted towards the upper level.

"Valerie," he exclaimed as he turned to her, "Where were you, Fox called—Valerie!" Then his words stopped as his eyes fell on her figure, on her battered, bloodied, wet, trembling figure. He ran to her. "Val, what the hell happened?"

She laughed, as he held her shoulders. "Ran into the lake."

Giving her a look, Bruce frowned. "Valerie—" She closed the few inches between their bodies, and caught his face between her hands. She pulled him down for a kiss. "I'm okay."

Her body pressed on him, he felt the heat radiating out of her. "Okay?" He pulled back from her grip and ran his hand over her forehead. "Val, you have a fever."

Smiling, she shook her head, and repeated, "I'm okay."

He gave her another suspicious look. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she took a step back. "Nothing happened."

His eyes grew even more suspicious. "Okay, now, I know _something_ happened." He closed the distance she had put between them, and asked gently, "Baby, another nightmare?"

Suddenly her features shifted, and she threw herself at him, and hugged him fiercely. "No, not another nightmare," she said, and added with a soft whisper, "There are no nightmares now."

* * *

For words, it was five simple words that had brought all of his future to an end.

_Tavian was taken into custody._

And his man had said them so easily, like they didn't matter, like their whole future didn't depend on it. _No man is an island_, passed through his mind. Then why was Charles talking like it didn't matter? Tavian was the last step, the step up for greener—_cleaner_ pastures. He had no plans for staying a simple racketeer for his whole life, nor did he have any plans for going deeper with Mafioso, not more than he needed. He needed them now, to make the last step, to take the leap. No business barons started with clean hands; Mayer Amschel Rothschild had profited from wars, even the greatest philanthropist, John D. Wayne had exploited the Civil War.

He'd been planning this for years, since the time he had met the old Ukrainian. He had climbed the ladders one by one, had made them with his teeth and nails. Just a half a minute ago the whole world was under his feet, all he needed was to take the leap.

Now it was gone. He had lost, once again, like he everything else in his life. He had hopes, had dreams, in front of Georgina, giving her the happiest day of her life, her wedding; his little bride.

He stood up, and went to find her. He needed to feel her, needed to feel her presence, smell her perfume, to take her in his embrace. His arms needed to feel her body, his body needed to feel hers pressed on him, telling him that she was there without saying anything.

She was sitting on the loveseat in their bedroom, her legs stretched out, holding a magazine in her hands. When he entered, she raised her head and looked at him. And those eyes...those eyes didn't have the same sparkle that had always lifted his spirit. He looked back at her, she didn't speak.

His eyes skipped to Lodi standing beside him in front of the door, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Georgina answered immediately, her eyes still holding his. "Was there something?"

Women intuition, Derrick wondered. Was it possible she had felt something? Only Charles knew what had happened, and he would never tell a word. Not to Gi. "I want to take a breather. Would you like to come with me?"

A flick of hand, as dismissive as waving a fly off, as she declined, "I'm reading."

"You can read later," he said. "I really would like to have your company."

She shook her head. "I—I'm sorry, but I really don't feel well enough for a walk."

And that instance Derrick saw Georgina lying. He nodded though. "I understand."

Maybe his failures didn't deserve that mercy.

He turned on his heels and walked out, out of the room, out of the house.

Outside he raised the collar of his shirt over his neck, and walked to the busiest street of the city, the one across from Gotham City Central Park.

* * *

It wasn't likely that the magazine would catch her attention, but Georgina still held it in her hands. Her head bowed, she stole quick glances at the man standing in front of her door.

Lodi. Former thief, new bodyguard. The last man in the ranks. He who was given the task to protect what was the most precious to Derrick Malkin, or so she had thought. There were a lot of things Georgina had thought falsely. For a second, her mind went to Derrick, and his strange words, but Georgina _really _didn't have times for walks now.

She shot another quick glance at her bodyguard. She knew all about the funny looking skinny man, but she didn't have the slightest idea about who he was in reality. He had a mother somewhere out there, a mother for who he would do anything, and Georgina appreciated that, his loyalty. But he was loyal to Derrick too. Derrick was his hero; he had saved him from poverty, he had given his mother good treatment, had given him a home, where no one judged him because of his ancestors, because of the color of his skin, because of his religion. Yet, the man was still a stranger. She didn't know him, she didn't know his favorite movie, his favorite team, she didn't how he preferred his coffee, perhaps he preferred tea? The funny part was that this stranger, this strange, shy, dark skinned, meek stranger was going to be her collaborator.

If everything went according to her plan.

Her eyes widened a little over the magazine as she caught her own musings. Sideway glances, collaborators, plans...schemes. Her eyes drew toward the mirror at her left side and she looked at the reflection. Who was that woman over there? Who was that stranger? She had never been one of those people, the brave ones, the courageous ones, nor she had been one of the scheming ones, yet even that wasn't going to change her mind.

That woman was a stranger, yes, but that woman had a purpose in life, and Georgina liked that a lot.

* * *

Thomas turned and looked at mirror, each hand holding a tie. Sometimes it was so hard to decide.

"Where are you going?" Dylan asked behind him from where sat at the bar.

He turned back and fixed his _friend_ a glare. "Really?" he answered, titling his head. "You know, this—old married couple role is boring too. Find something else to do."

"I'm—" Dylan confessed with a tiny bit of whine in his tone, "bored."

Suspicion lit his eyes as his gaze skipped to the suave blond. "Don't you have a date to fuck and another to blow off?"

He poured himself a shot. "I'm bored with that too," and bottled it up.

_Ask out Selina then_, came to the tip of his tongue, but Thomas managed to hold it in. He held his hands up, and asked, "Blue or gray?"

Giving the ties an once-over, Dylan answered absentmindedly, "Blue." Thomas threw the blue one behind his shoulder and started to tie the gray. Dylan sneered. "That whore isn't worth all of this—shaping up, you know."

Thomas turned aside to his friend. "How do you know I'm going to _her_?"

Dylan snickered, "Is there any woman you see these days, besides _them_?"

"Dylan," Thomas bit off, "fuck you."

Dylan fixed himself another shot. "You're not my type."

Snatching the drink from him, Thomas threw it back, and set the glass down on the bar, and walked out, heading to the house that was across Main Street.

* * *

Buzzing with people and animals, Gotham City Central Park was the same as ever. Settling on his bench, Derrick watched Main Street, the busiest street of the city, as people walked by.

A few meters away from him, a group of workers from yet another renovation program packed their stuff as their shift ended; a girl hand in hand with her boyfriend strolled casually; a mother, dragged her child along muttering under her breath while another pushed her baby's carriage over the cobblestones forcibly, and both children's cries mixed together. Derrick's gaze traveled over them, across them, to the street as his mind went back to the old days, the night he had passed sitting on that spot, looking for Jasmine.

He wondered if she was still confused. Smiling, he closed his eyes. Perhaps he would see her again, if he sat here the whole night, this time he would see her, then he would ask... and possibly she would tell him 'stay back, lunatic.' Laughing to himself, he opened his eyes, and looked for Jasmine, still.

And of course, she wasn't passing by. It wasn't as a small world as people said it was. No, it was a big world; a big, fat, copious world that was full of copious people, son of bitches and more bitches.

His smile fading, a frown appeared on his features. Tavian was gone, he was going to need to restart from scratch, from the very beginning, once again, and it'd be better if he just stood up right now.

There was no time left.

He stood up, turned to the left, then he saw _her_. Perhaps it really was a small world.

With her business suits, gloves, and sunglasses gone, she looked younger, and—different. Instead of pencil skirts that hugged her figure closely, she wore yoga pants, and a simple tee shirt, white sneakers on her feet, her face bare of any make up. She still looked beautiful though, even with the fiery gash running down her forearm. He stopped where he stood, looking at her. When she felt his stare, she turned then halted.

Her face held the same surprised look that he was sure was on his own face. Then it passed quickly, she smiled briefly, and started to walk towards him. "Mr. Malkin."

"Ms. Kyle," Derrick greeted, giving her a small brief smile back. "Fancy meeting you here."

She looked around, and her smile widened, and she really looked younger, much much younger. "Fancy meeting you here too," she repeated.

His own smile widened. "It's a small world."

Then her smile vanished, and suspicion filled her eyes, "Perhaps not."

He didn't mince words then. "I wasn't following you, Ms. Kyle."

Even though she was taken aback with his directness, she didn't show it, instead she nodded curtly. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She titled her head, her smile reappearing, "Taking a breath? Walking?" He nodded back. "It's always so lively here. I like it." She pointed a girl that was texting. "See that girl? Every day she comes here, and jogs a little, all while _texting,_" she stressed the word playfully, and moved closer to him. "Then she meets someone," she sat down on the bench, "while still texting the other."

"Well, the youth are fast these days."

She shrugged. "She _always_ texts. It's like she'd die if she didn't."

"Cell phones," Derrick said, remembering his old thought, "the collar that civilization puts around our neck."

She laughed. "Now you truly sound like an old man."

"Some people age young, Ms. Kyle." He held her eyes. "Pain does that."

"And scars," she muttered.

He pointed the gash on her forearm. "What happened there?"

She looked back at him. "I fell."

Derrick let out a moderate laugh and leaned back. "You know a lot about that girl," he said after a while, his eyes fixed on the girl still texting.

"She lives next to my apartment," she answered, and her face soured. "I know the name of her boyfriends." She moved closer again, and whispered, "She's a screamer," then leaned back, "but I don't know her name." She paused to let out a sigh. "Alien-nation."

He gave her a look, trying to understand this new Selina Kyle next to him. Then he nodded in agreement. "Alien. Nation."

"The curse of modern people," she said with the finality then turned to him. "What are_ you_ doing here, Mr. Malkin?"

He waved his hand toward the street across from them. "It's the busiest street in Gotham. I like sitting here as people pass me by."

"Watching a city as it walks by," Selina Kyle muttered appreciated, "I like it."

The words followed, and what had made him utter them Derrick would never know. "I came here from Boston when I was fifteen."

"Why?"

"I was looking for someone. And this is the busiest street in Gotham, the street that everyone will pass one day."

She nodded as if she understood. "Why were you looking for-someone?"

"I'd asked a girl to marry me when I was five," he answered, telling her the truth he'd only told to Georgina. "She said she needed time."

"Why?" she asked again, intrigued, no trace of her usual mockery in her voice.

And Derrick appreciated that. Then decided he could blame this bizarre event on Tavian's fate. Though, even that wasn't enough to prevent him from answering her question. "Her mind was confused." Nor did it prevent him from contining. "That was why I wanted to find her. I wanted to ask if she was still confused."

Her eyes studied him carefully, and when she talked her voice was soft, softer than he'd ever heard her talk before. "Did you find her?"

He shook head. "No. The world isn't that small." He cleared his throat. "Today—" he coughed again a bit, "today was a hard day for me."

"I—gathered that." She stood up. "Still," she extended her hand, "it was—nice to see you again, Mr. Malkin."

Standing up, he took her hand. "It was nice to see you again too, Ms. Kyle."

As she walked away, Derrick looked at her retreating back.

* * *

The woman's screams were muffled behind his hand as Thomas fucked her hard from behind over the table. The whore was good at what she did, she knew how to move her body slickly, how to drive herself to a perfect arc under him, and the view before his eyes was rather good, the only problem with her was that she just couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Nyah, nyah, oh fuck," she cried over his hand, as he roughened his pace, flattening heron her stomach over the wooden surface of the table.

Growling, Thomas pressed his hand on her mouth harder, and bent further. "Stop talking," he hissed in her hear. "No sounds." He gave another deep rough thrust. "No. Fucking. Sounds." Bracing his other hand on the edge of the table, he quickened his pace more, and hit her into the table. "You will listen to me, Valerie." He moved her again over the table, "You're mine," and growled over her skin, "to do whatever I want with."

The woman didn't make any sounds this time, only nodded once; meekly accepting what was given to her, given to her very hard. Satisfied, Thomas lessened his grip a bit, and pressed the side of her head on the table. "Say, yes, Thomas," he ordered.

"Yes, Thomas," she obeyed.

He pushed another stroke. "You're mine to do whatever I want."

"I'm yours to do whatever you want," she repeated, her head still pressed under his hand.

"And I will punish you if you don't listen to me, Val."

With a rough scream, she followed the last order too, "And you will punish me if I don't listen to you, Thomas."

"Good girl." Pulling an inch back, he turned her around, and looked straight into her eyes, eyes of the darkest green. His face closing off, he pulled out of her and frowned.

The woman looked at her back confused, blinking as his eyes riveted on her eyes, the darkest shade of green... "Hey, everything is okay?" she asked hesitantly, propping her elbows on the table.

"Your eyes are too dark."

Rolling her eyes dramatically, she straightened and went to put on her robe. "First, my hair was too light," she started under her breath, tying the robe around herself, "now my eyes are too dark." She turned to him. "You know, it'd be a lot easier if you just go to _her_ first then come back here."

Thomas put his pants on and zipped them up giving her a glare. She laughed. "Does this Valerie know what you would like to do to her?"

Shooting her another glare, he put on his shirt too. "Buy contact lenses, lighter ones," he ordered, "and darken your hair."

Tilting her head, the exclusive night lady gave him a look before she declared, "It's gonna cost you twice as much. I rather like my color."

"Fine," Thomas said before he slammed the door in her face.

Outside the warm air of the approaching fall hit his face, and he wished for the coolness of winter. He needed to cool his head. What he had done, what he was doing was childish, and... desperate. He was Thomas Elliot. There were millions of people that would die, or _kill_, to be like him. If Dylan could see him, he would call him a 'loser', and this time, he wouldn't be exaggerating. Fuck Dylan.

Fuck Dylan, fuck Valerie, fuck Chill, fuck Selina, fuck Rupert. Fuck them all.

This had to end. He was Thomas fucking Elliot.

An Elliot.

Perhaps his father was right. Family mattered. The blood in his veins... he was the sole heir, sole heir to an empire. He was a king. And a king shouldn't bow to anyone. His father was right. He was _childish._

Making up his mind, he walked to his car, and started to drive to Elliot Inc., started to drive back home... people parted in two on the busiest street in the city as his black Maserati passed like a thunder between them, like he was the king that divided the Red Sea, and Thomas smiled. Then just as Main Street met the corner of the park, he saw _her_ sitting with _Derrick Malkin._

His foot pressed on the brake, creating a thunderous screeching sound, as the cars around him honked their horns, and a few angry drivers hung their heads out of the windows and shouted... His mind didn't process what they were saying, his ears were deaf. The only thing that his mind processed now was Selina and Derrick Malkin. Sitting on a bench in the Central Park. Sitting close to each other, laughing and smiling.

Selina and Derrick Malkin.

If this was a plot from the very beginning... His mind traveled back to the masquerade ball... _When you look at the world through a mask, everything seems different._

And what masks were they wearing now?

His mind steeled as his eyes sharpened, and he slowly parked along the curb. Giving a glance back toward them in the visor mirror, he saw them shaking hands. He took his phone out, giving another glance back. They were still smiling at each other. "Eddie," he said as soon as the line was picked up. "Make the preparations."

His PI hesitantly asked after a brief pause, "Um, for what?"

"For _war_," Thomas answered acutely, and added, "I'm retuning to London."


	31. What Time Does

**Chapter Twenty Six: **

**What Time Does**

* * *

"Take the price sticker, please," the former Art Loss Register investigator Chuck Hollis told the book dealer standing behind the bench. The old man nodded, as his nails started to dig the sticky label from the plastic cover .

After he was finished, the book dealer studied his job, and ran his fingers over the title. "_Bellum omnium contra omnes_," he quoted with his polished accent, "A copy from 30s'. You have a good taste, sir." He put the book in carton paper that had Black Books written over it, and went on, "Though I personally prefer Locke's take on the social contract—"

Hollis cut off his words, "Good to know." He took the book from his aged fingers and walked out.

Bullocks, he really didn't like secondhand bookshops, nor did he like secondhand book dealers. He took the book out of its bag, and placed it inside his attaché case, next to the diamond necklace and earrings that Selina had sent him. Smiling, he hailed a cab to Henry Smith's.

Henry lived in one of those overpriced residences in the neighborhood of Belgravia, the ones that took security to a level of paranoia. Though, unlike his unsuspicious neighbors, Henry Smith had a very good reason for it. One would think that a stolen merchandise dealer wouldn't have been a thief's first choice, but Hollis already knew there was no such honor among thieves.

The dealers were always a logical choice; you could always trust them to have some goodies lying around, as well as a bit of unidentified cash. And given their stature, and how they dealt with their business, there was no risk of a police investigation. But despite of those tempting excuses, no sane man would want to cross with Henry Smith. No sane person who still wanted to do business.

When he arrived, he stepped out of the cab and waited until the guard at the door made sure Mr. Smith was expecting his guest, and then was handed to the lift attendant. Hollis gave the elevator door hop half of a smile, and said "Mr. Smith, please." The man pressed the top floor. After spending more than thirty six hours in a cave-in while he served for Royal Army, Henry had developed a _fetish_ to be on the top of everything.

The lift stopped at the top, and the attendant didn't leave the hall until he saw Henry open his door and greet him with open arms. "Beloved Charles," the old man exclaimed while pulling him inside, and Hollis barely held his frown at bay, giving the man a tense smile instead. "Come, come inside. I was just having a delicious snack."

Holding back a sneer this time, Hollis followed his overweight host to the living room, where a table that was always full of deserts and wine sat in the corner closest to an old comfortable green armchair that sat next to the tall window overlooking Eaton Square. Henry's eating habits were another souvenir from his time passed in the cave, as much as the green comfortable armchair that watched the town was. Henry had once told him that he'd passed the time ravenous, dreaming of food the whole time he lay in the dark, and since that time he'd been making his dream come true. The old man cut himself and Hollis a big slice from the cake on the table, and poured two glasses of wine and then offered one of both to him.

"Thanks," Hollis muttered as taking the offerings.

"Beloved Charles," Henry started again, settling in his armchair, and taking a bite from his cake. "I was wondering when you'd drop by." He gulped. "When you said after dinner—"

Hollis sat across from him and set his plate on the counter next to his seat. "Ran into a—complication. Sorry."

"Woman troubles?" the dealer asked, his eyes twinkling.

No, a rather nosy dealer like you, passed through Hollis' mind. "Which woman isn't trouble?" he asked back.

Laughing, Henry nodded, then took a big sip from his wine. "You said you might have things I'd like to see."

After a quick sip from his own wine, he placed his glass next to the plate, and opened his briefcase. He pulled the Leviathan out, and extended it to him. Henry took the book, inspecting it carefully.

"Hmm," the old dealer turned the book around, "A first edition of William Edwin Rudge." He tapped the book with his fingernails, "Good hardcover," he inspected the margins of the cover, "a bit rusted onthe edges, and—" he flipped the pages, "there are finger prints and wax marks...it was a bitch reading under the candle." He placed the book on the arm of his armchair. "Overall, good condition," he remarked at the end with nonchalant tone. Hollis knew it, and he also knew that Henry had mentioned those just because he liked to play his role, no buyer wanted to seem too enthusiastic for the stuff he was prepared to purchase, but Hollis had seen the glint in the old man's eyes when they first fell on the book.

"Do you know anything about William Edwin Rudge prints?" Henry asked.

"One of my old—customers lost one. We were looking for it."

The old man nodded. "Mr. Rudge started in his father's small printing shop. Then he met Frederic Goudy," Henry started to retell, and Hollis kindly listened even though he already knew the tale. He'd researched it himself, years ago, but he wasn't going to deny the old dealer his opportunity for a lecture in printing. "Frederic was already gaining fame for his typing designs. Edwin was a supporter of Empiricism. Edwin's father had gotten involved with the criminal lot during his youth, so the concept of tabula rasa intrigued him, so in 1931 together with Goudy, he published a line in Goudy Old Style for Empirics, from British Hobbes—" he tapped the Leviathan once, "to Persian Avicenna."

"Then Goudy's old style typeface became so popular during the 30s, it passed even Bodoni and Garamond," Henry smiled, taking the book in his hand again, "it concluded his print series for Empirics and placed at the top for two issues of Literary Digest."

Hollis smiled, and finished for him, "And they made quite a name for themselves."

Henry nodded with satisfaction of finishing his tale to a willing ear, and raised the book up. "Where did you find it, Hollis? These prints were in America in the last decade of the 20th century. I heard a certain gentlemen here in London had bought them, but after he died, it was sold with his library."

Smiling moderately, Hollis lied. "My—contractor found it in another gentleman's library."

"Hmm—" Henry stroked his salt and pepper beard. "I see." He placed the book down again, and took a big sip from his wine. "Hmm, you said you had _things_."

Smiling once again, Hollis took the diamond set out of his case. He stood up to give them to the dealer.

The dealer looked at the shinning stones inside his palm, then raised his magnifying lens that was hung around his neck to his eye. "Hmm," he muttered again, assessing the diamonds, "Clear, good cutting. I assume they're certified-?"

Hollis nodded. Henry gave him a look over his lens, but then quickly said, "One for the book, and one hundred for the shinnies."

Hollis shook his head. "The book isn't for sale." Henry shot him a look, dropping his lens. "It's a present," Hollis continued, "I was going to keep it for myself, but then I thought you'd appreciate it more." His eyes flicked toward to the library on his left, full of old dated books, that Hollis knew for sure this time weren't just there for show.

"Beloved Charles," Henry exclaimed, "That's very generous of you."

Hollis smiled again. "Don't expect anything from mefor Christmas."

Henry rose from his seat. "Then allow me offer you another drink." He poured him a glass, and padded slowly to him. Hollis stood up to meet him in the middle. "Son, you're making yourself quite a rep," he then commented. "I knew it since the first time I set my eyes on you." He shook his head. "You were such a youngling that day."

The memory brought a genuine smile to his lips. "I didn't believe a word of what you'd said, Henry."

"Of course you didn't," Henry bellowed. "You were young, not a fool." He paused for a second. "Though, you were a bit foolish." He laughed loudly. "You tried to get me arrested."

Hollis shrugged. "You were hiding the thing I'd been searching for for a year, Henry."

"I was, wasn't I?" He laughed again, and his eyes glanced to the diamonds and books. "Good thing that I haven't changed since then."

Hollis laughed back faintly too. "It was good to see you, old man." He turned back, and started to walk toward the exit, waiting to hear the words.

"Hollis," and he did, and he did. "Why did you really come?"

Wiping the smirk off of his face, Hollis turned to face him. "Someone has started asking for me, here in London. Someone is poking his nose into my business."

Understanding lighting his eyes, Henry nodded. "I see."

Hollis didn't mince words then. "Could you look around for me?"

Henry nodded. Hollis nodded back, and turned on his heels. Just before he opened the door, Henry called him again. "Charles," his hand stopped, "The book thing... it was good. Well done."

Letting out a faint laugh, Hollis countered, "I learned from the best."

* * *

Dresses hung from the racks, designer's clothes in every color and form, light reflected on the mirrored walls of the exclusive shop, and on the surface of a sparkling necklace inside its glass case. Georgina watched the tiny specks of multi-colored rays shine in the room before her eyes skipped to the man next to her.

His face set in grim lines, Lodi seemed to be as interested in the shinning scene as she was. Taking a dress from the racks absentmindedly, she moved closer to him. She gave the dress a look then threw it over the counter. "It's always the same."

Lodi turned to her, his face blank, his eyes shadowing what was passing behind them. "If you wish to go another shop—"

"No," she shook her head. "I don't want to go another shop. I'm bored with shopping." And this time she wasn't lying. Since she knew what her fate was now, since she had sent the message to Elena, since that fateful night, Georgina discovered she hadn't any desire for dresses any more. She was a woman on a mission now, she had priorities.

Even if Lodi was surprised by her confession, there was no trace of it on his features, his face was as blank as ever. Georgina mentally appreciated his ability for concealment. "Do you wish to go Jackie's, Miss Georgina?"

She shook her head. No, she didn't want to go to Jackie's either. She needed to find a place, a place that would bond them, somewhere that would allow them _share_. And Jackie's wasn't it. Somewhere light, somewhere natural, somewhere fresh, somewhere you could go with your family and friends... The figurative bulb lit over her head as she looked at the tiny specks of lights that surrounded her. She smiled at her bodyguard. "I want to catch a bit fresh air. Let's go to Central Park."

The Gotham City Central Park, the green oasis in the middle of the city; a big breath out, full with renovations, trying to progress, like Gotham itself, and Georgina saw that it hadn't changed a bit. It'd been a long time since she was there last... since... she couldn't even remember, but she damn well remembered the park. Derrick had used to bring her there a lot. They used to sit on benches, and he used to buy her popcorn at the stalls lining the paths, and they ate and laughed and watched people as they passed by. She remembered how happy she had been then, before, before that man came into their life, before when it was only just them; only her, when his love for her was enough for Derrick.

She sat on the bank, and wondered if this was where Derrick had come when he had asked her out the other day. Tavian's arrest hit him hard, Georgina understood later. He didn't say anything of course, but he didn't need to. Georgina didn't need words to understand Derrick any more. He was upset at losing the old Ukrainian, upset for losing the prospects of his new job. She shouldn't be bitter, she told herself, she wasn't the only one who had priorities. And she guessed that was what happened when you had priorities. Lifting her head up, she found Lodi. "Derrick used to take me here every week. He likes this place."

Lodi nodded, his eyes traveling over the crowd. A few feet away from them, a family of three were sitting on a blanket, the mother emptying the contents of their picnic basket, as the father made goo-goo noises at their baby. The baby cried with glee, his small hand rising to catch his father's nose. Lodi turned to her, and nodded. "It's a nice place, Miss Georgina."

Smiling, Georgina nodded back, then patted the spot next to her. "Come, sit here with me."

And he did. As they watched the city, for first time in all of her life, Georgina sensed deep in her bones how time changed things.

* * *

Sitting next to Dahlia in the black Lincoln, Andrei stared at his chauffeur's head. Donnie had taken the post once again; this time, he couldn't trust anyone else. Not anymore. He had his share in orchestrating what had happened to Volodimir, and he would be damned if he let the same thing to happen him. Madame would understand his situation. She never had supported him, not really, but it was no secret that Madame had always hated the Supreme, the ruler of the Council.

Miles away from the city, Donnie stopped in front of the house, and turned off the motor without a word. From the window, Andrei saw the guards standing in front of the massive winged doors, the private property; do not cross warnings that were attached to the bars were nothing next to the men in black in front of them. He wondered when she had arrived in Gotham, but that kind of knowledge wasn't something he would find out, not now. Without casting a glance outside, Dahlia extended the small velvet box to him, her hands soft and delicate in order not to harm what was lying inside. With the same carefulness, he took out the onyx ring, the serpent eating its own tail, and placed it on his little finger.

Giving a look to Dahlia, Andrei left the car. "Councilor," the head of the bodyguards greeted him monotonously, "Madame is waiting for you. Please this way."

They passed the house, and the lake, and arrived at the roses garden on the west. The old woman tended a newly opened grove, her enormous hat protecting her dried skin from the late sun. His pace deliberate, Andrei walked to her side.

The hand that held the grooming tool was shaking, but there was no hesitance in her motions, she cut the buds swiftly, the visible parts of her face under her hat were emotionless as granite. "Madame," he greeted her, as she raised her free hand to him, her eyes fixed on the roses.

Respectfully, Andrei held it with his fingertips, and brushed his lips over the serpent ring that was on her forefinger. Without stopping, she pulled her hand back, and continued her gardening. "It's the heat," she said, her words heavy with her French accent, her eyes still fixed ahead. She cut a dry rose while her hand pulled the others aside. "See, what happens when the heat boils too much? They wither and die."

"Yes," he confirmed.

"They warned me though," she said then, finally sparing him a glance before her eyes turned back to her roses. "They warned me that I couldn't grow this type of rose in my garden, but I didn't listen."

"It's always good to hear the counsels that were given without expectation."

She lifted her head, "And what makes you think that there wasn't any expectation in the counsel, Councilor?" and fixed him an unwavering look, old and glinting, her face still not showing any emotion even when she stared at his dead eye, glass-blue and lifeless, and Andrei, the warrior had to force himself to stay unflinching under the heat of her gaze. "I've never liked you, Andrei. Your job—"

"—is simply to provide my services to those who desire it," Straightening his back, Andrei countered, "like it has been since the dawn of civilization."

"Civilized words for an uncivilized man," Madame countered. "Roman mentioned that you're interested in wild animals."

A brief smiled passed over his lips. They had talked about _him_. "They intrigue me."

She set down her tools, as her lips cracked briefly. "Wildness always has a thing or two to teach us humans." She stood up, took her hat off, and handed it to one of the bodyguards nearby. The man moved forward quickly, took it, then fell back again with the same speed, her hat disappearing behind his back. "But, the problem is I never liked Volodimir either."

"But he was simply worse," Andrei sustained.

She nodded. "And it was time for a succession. Time happens."

"Things change. And another Meeting is coming," he finished

Her eyes twinkled, and Andrei felt like they had finally started talking. "What's your problem, Monsieur Andrei?"

"I have a traitor in my ranks," Andrei answered truthfully. History was repeating itself, but this time the end was going to be different. He wasn't going to share Volodimir's fate. There wasn't going to be another coup, another move in the night. He would sure of it. "The Supreme has made his move."

The old Frenchwoman laughed, her fingers turning her black ring, "And you want to pass the ring to your forefinger, apparently."

Andrei only smiled, and bowed his head in acceptance. Madame laughed again, before giving a dramatic sigh, and quoted, "The revolution always devours its children first, doesn't it, Monsieur Andrei?"

"No," Andrei said, "time does that."

* * *

In the corner of the spacious room in Applied Sciences, the place only a few selected were authorized to enter, the infamous thing , the thing that changed her life forever, sat majestically. And with one look, Valerie decided that the designs she had seen earlier hadn't given it justice. Representing its owner nicely; massive, obtrusive, and very intimidating, the bulk of metal looked even—uglier in person.

She tilted her head, still looking at the Tumbler, then pursed her lips. "Well, it's impressive—I guess."

His eyes glinting with something very akin to childish glee, Bruce moved closer to the vehicle. "It's even better than the old one." He ran his hand over its matte surface. "It can go from zero to a hundred in under six seconds, and is really _able to_ jump over the rooftops." He pointed the motors under the tank. "See those? They're the latest improvements." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Jet engines."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "It's a good thing that I know that you don't have any shortcomings, Bruce," she said, following him, and then asked with a frown, "And seriously when did you start to rebuild this? And why haven't I seen it until now?"

He turned to give her a look. "You might have seen it earlier if you hadn't stopped coming to the office."

"Ouch," she shot back, and gave him a smirk. "So, tankman, wanna impress me?"

Moving closer, he opened the hatch for her. "I thought you'd never ask."

Laughing, Valerie hopped in, Bruce on her heels. Inside, she moved to the passenger side, crouching to fit into the scant interior. She rolled her neck up and gave the vehicle a good once-over. Electronic panels, the switches, hard sturdy construction, and the rather uncomfortable seats, the _tank_ covered the lack of coziness with blatent technology. Leaning on the seat, she announced. "Well, I liked Lamborghini better."

"Then allow me change your mind," he said giving her a smirk, before pressing one of the red switches on the panel in front of him. As soon as he did, the motors roared to life, and the seats they were sitting on dropped down. "What the hell—" She started then stopped as the seat moved forward. "Fuck," she breathed out as she clutched the edge of it, lowering her head to prevent it hitting the panel. "A little bit of warning would have been nice!" She shouted as the vehicle itself started _talking, "Battle Engines activated."_

"It TALKS?"

"It can do much better than that." He laughed, then hit another button.

It launched forward. It didn't move but flew. She closed her eyes, her hands gripping her seat's edge tightly, "Okay, it's _really_ a good thing that I know _for certain_ that you don't have any shortcomings."

In answer, Bruce accelerated, heading right into the wall, but before they crashed, he made a curt left and stopped the—beast. The seats started elevating again, as the Tumbler started talking. "_Battle engines disabled. Normal procedures engaged._"

Giving a look at the computer screen, she opened the hatch above their heads. Letting out a shaky breath, she climbed down. "Okay," she supported her arm on the hood, still breathing hard, "Remind me to never ask for a ride from you again."

Leaning causally on his side of the tank, Bruce pointed out, "Now you know how I feel when _you_ drive."

"Hey, I don't drive like that!"

He gave her a look, his eyes still glinting openly.

She huffed. "Well," he said, "You asked to be impressed—" He gave her a smirk, "—by my engines."

She returned the gesture, lowering her eyes over his crotch. "Ah, don't you wish." They exited out to the long narrow corridor that lead to lift. "You're going to see Ramirez now?" Bruce asked pressing the button.

Valerie nodded. "Yup. I'll see you tonight, 'kay?"

"Be back before evening," he warned.

She rolled her eyes again as the lift arrived. "I thought Cinderella had until midnight before she turns back into a pumpkin. "

He gave her another look. "Be a good girl."

Walking inside the elevator, she returned his look, "If I were to be any _better_, Bruce, I'd turn into _Smurfette_."

"Then you wouldn't mind looking for a spot for the picnic, right?" He walked in next to her. "The date approaches."

She sighed, and muttered, "Make one good suggestion, and everyone really does ask miracles from you." She shook her head. "The next thing I know you're gonna ask me to cook you dinner."

He cocked his eyebrow. Valerie poked her finger at his chest. "Nah-ah, don't even think about it."

"Well," Bruce gently took her hand, brought it down, and maneuvered the conversation to somewhere more pleasant. "In that case I'd be settled if you prepare a folder for the drugs labs we categorized in the database."

Perhaps, not so pleasant, Valerie decided. "So we're turning to the fear drug again?"

"We've never left it," he remarked his eyes losing the mischievous glint. "We only have had to stray. Besides," The elevator arrived on the top floor, and the doors opened to reveal Bruce's office. "_Everyone_ is waiting for us to stop it."

They walked out, and behind them the panel slid over the elevator to hide it from prying eyes. Bruce sat in his seat behind his desk, and Valerie sat in the chair in front of it. Picking a few loose strands off her dress, she frowned. "What if it was a fraud?"

He nodded, thinking about what he had said to Fox weeks ago. "To mislead us," he mused, and continued much like how he had done with Fox. "Only it doesn't _mislead_ us to anywhere."

Valerie huffed frustrated. "Maybe it's really a fraud," he repeated her words. Valerie fixed him a look, narrowing her eyes. "Not to lead us anywhere, but to distract us. Remember the Trojan Horse?"

"Trojan Horse?" she asked cocking her eyebrow up. "So what do you think it's distracting us from?"

He turned her gaze, his jaw clenching, while he admitted sternly, "I don't know." He paused for a second, as his eyes skipped to the outside as his eyes hardened even more. "Yet." He turned to her. "Look for chemists too, Val. Find out if there is someone missing or declared dead."

Standing up to leave, she nodded. "Got it."

* * *

Being as good a girl as Smurfette, Valerie returned before evening, categorized the meth labs, and then started to look for any missing chemists. The talk with Ramirez had gone well, in fact, the talks with Ramirez were going better than she had anticipated. At least, she was having a little bit luck somewhere. She wondered if it was really the guilt over what the detective had caused, or if it was about the talk they had shared months ago. _I won't stop until I rip the heart out of you too._

Perhaps, she had been too soft in dealing with the witch.

Speaking of which, she pushed the dossiers away from her, and pulled up the windows that contained the video feed for Selina's house. Crouched in front of a block of with an attached keypad, Selina was working diligently, again. After their last encounter, Bruce had set up the surveillance, and whenever Valerie —only her, Bruce wasn't allowed to watch the tapes without her permission, that had been her terms, she hadn't turned into that much of a good girl, thank you very much— saw her, the witch was always working on something. The keypads, the locks, or simply working out, or with that blasted whip.

Valerie had to admit, Selina certainly knew how to improve herself, just one night ago she had been trying fight in _high heels_. _"If the dancers can dance on these heels, then I can certainly kick in them, Holly."_ It hadn't worked out well, thank god, but Valerie knew Selina was always a quick study.

On the screen, Selina stood up, and started to prepare for her—nighttime activities. Heaving a sigh, she lowered the window on the screen, and pressed on the comm., "Selina is going out."

"Now?" Bruce's surprised voice came through the line.

"Yeah, she seems very eager to see Batman again," she snickered.

"Valerie—"

"Okay, okay, prepare," she picked up her notes and the dossier. "I'm coming down."

"You're the best," he said, and for the first time Valerie didn't believe what he said.


	32. The Things We Do For Love

**Chapter Twenty Seven:**

**The Things We Do For Love**

* * *

"_NOOO,_" her new friend cried over the line, and Valerie had to move the phone away from her ear. "What do you mean you can't?" the young woman asked and continued without waiting for an answer, "We arranged another warehouse. This one is even bigger. _And_ Suzie returned from her family's home, so she's coming too."

"Hmm, when?" Valerie asked, putting a report for a long dead chemist aside. "I thought she was due next weekend."

"So did we. But she came back earlier. Dunno why. I bet someone told her about _you_," Jill mused out loud, "so it's kinda your fault. Jess is totally bummed," she continued in a reasonable tone, "So you need to come."

"What I am going to do?" she asked back, "Scare her off Nathan, then Jessica could come to comfort him?"

"Who cares?" Jill exclaimed. "Adam is out of the city. And Tara is absolutely worthless when it comes to this."

Valerie blinked a few times, and smiled a little in disbelief. "Jill, are you trying to say you want me to come because you're gonna make fun of your friends, and Tara wouldn't appreciate that?"

"Yes!"

"Oh girl," Valerie breathed out, "you definitely know how to talk to me."

Valerie felt the young woman's grin. "So you coming?"

"Nah...I need—"

"But it's gonna be spectacular," Jill interrupted her, "Suzie, Nathan, and Jess, in the same room. You've never seen them together before."

"I'm sorry, it really sounds fun," Jill made a sound, and her eyes fell to the reports, then skidded to the batpod that Bruce was repairing. "But I promised Bruce—another thing."

"Oh," the energetic blonde perked up again, "You two going one of those _parties_?"

"Nope," Valerie shook her head, "They're hardly fun anyway. It's something else."

"It's George Clooney's party, isn't it?" she asked back breathless, "Oh god, I'm so stupid. Asking you out to a stupid rave when you can go to George's party."

"No, it isn't," she laughed. "It's something else."

"You mean they didn't invite you?" Jill asked surprised, and like a little bit affronted, "How did they not invite you? You're dating Bruce Wayne!"

"I'm _living_ with Bruce Wayne," Valerie corrected, momentarily shocked how easily the words had come, "and they _did_. But it's—something else."

"Well, mind telling me what?" Jill said with a sigh in her voice, then stopped abruptly, "No. Don't. I _don't_ want to know what's more exhilarating than George Clooney's party."

Her eyes fell on the reports, and she took one and looked at the weary old man's photo, and agreed before hanging up, "No, you don't."

She threw the phone down the counter, and went back to her _exhilarating_ business, as Bruce asked from under the Batpod, "What was that about?"

"Jill—" she said shortly, "Adam is out of town. And she needs a—wing woman by her side."

His head popped out under the bike. "Sounds fun."

"Yeah," she said, and brought the file up for him, "Too bad I've got more _fun_ with Mr. Dale here."

Pulling himself under the bike, Bruce threw the screwdriver into his toolbox, and walked to her. "Find something?"

"I'm not sure," Valerie admitted, as Bruce took the cloth that hung over his belt, wiped his greasy hands, and then threw it away. Her eyes riveted on his greasy, sweaty, and very, very attractive figure, and the words vaporized in her mind. "Val—Valerie-" He waved his hand in front of her. She lifted her head up at him. "What've you found?"

She tossed the papers away, looped her fingers inside his belt and pulled him closer. "Nothing that couldn't wait a little while." She rose on her toes. "Darling," she whispered over his lips, "why don't you show me your engines again?" Her eyes skipped to the bike, as her lips cracked with a dirty smile. "I'm sure the bike needs someone to test it."

Giving her a look, he picked her up and settled her on the Batpod, then pulled back. "The _test drive_ can wait." She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it, holding up a finger. "No misbehaving. What did you find?"

Letting out a sigh, Valerie motioned for him to bring the yellow dossier back to her. "Robert Dale," she started, "Has a PhD for inorganic chemistry. Forty six years old, male, Caucasian, single. No children," she dictated from memory while flipping through her notes. "He left Gotham University five years ago, and transferred to Pearson Chemicals to work in the R&D department. He's been missing since February." She placed the folder on her lap. "I searched through his records, and they're clean but his credentials support the idea that he's capable of deriving that kind of cocktail from the blue flower."

He took the folder from her lap, and started to look himself, "What about Pearson Chemicals?"

She shrugged, "Seems clean. But we need to look deeper. You know how corporations are."

He nodded. "Look for their financial reports. Let's see if there is something we can do with Wayne Chemicals." She nodded back. "Where does he live?"

"In an apartment complex at the corner of 75th and 80th," she answered and gave him a look. "Going there?"

He nodded again. "Be careful," she warned. "It's close to Madison Avenue. Madison isn't like your usual hang-outs."

"I know," he agreed. "Don't worry. I'll just look around."

"Okay."

* * *

The call had arrived while Mr. Walden was reading Mr. Crews' hard copy of Sun Tzu's _Art of War_, and Mr. Crews was feeding his black cat. Mr. Walden had been rather enjoying himself, as the little kitten's purrs went nicely with his peaceful reading, so he was rather annoyed, and offended when the call interrupted it. Mr. Walden knew the importance of having some quality time. He decided that they needed to kill their intruder after their emergency ceased to be a problem.

An outside observer though wouldn't have been able to tell that they were having any sort of emergency. Mr. Walden still sat in his place next to the cold fireplace, and Mr. Crews was still caressing the cat on his lap. "The rat smells the cheese in the trap, you think?" Mr. Crews asked, his fingers brushing over his cat's head, his voice pitched with amused curiosity. "Interesting," he repeated, lifting his head to give a look to his companion, "most interesting."

Mr. Walden lifted his own head, placing the book in his hands carefully on the coffee table. Mr. Crews hung up the phone, placed the cat down, and stood up. "It seems our friend has discovered the existence of the Master Chemist."

"The Mistress won't like it," Mr. Walden countered, standing up.

"No, she won't," Mr. Crews agreed, dialing another number. "Now, let's see how our friend and GCPD's collaboration went last week." He paused briefly then started to talk in a friendly voice. "Good evening, Officer Smith. Yes, I do believe that you may very well help me."

* * *

Although no one lived in it for six month, the house barely showed it. To the untrained eye, the studio apartment would have been seemed normal, the stale air and tiny dust cover over the furniture were the only indicator of its recent disuse, but to Batman's eyes it told a different story.

The bed was neatly tidied, not even one wrinkle on the pristinely white cotton sheets. He turned around and studied the library. The books were organized in alphabetic order by topic; chemistry had the biggest part of the shelves, then came the 20th century classics, first Russian, then French, English, and last American, on the bottom shelves there were poems, again clustered according to nature of nationality and alphabetic order.

He walked to his study, again organized meticulously, the notes arranged in color codes, his calendar marked with little notes. He started reading his appointments—mostly professional, appointments with his co-workers, or superiors, there was only one Melissa sometimes marked on the weekend, or Mom. Bruce placed the little black book on the desk, and fished out his tablet from his utility belt. "Valerie, pull that photo from his office on screen," he ordered. The studio was so tidy, so orderly for a single man in his mid-forties, a fact that just didn't seem right to him.

He looked at the photo on the screen. It wasn't a small office, but neither it was big; it was a classic corporate middle management office. The thing that was important about it was that the office itself was in no way as clean and tidy as his home. Sometimes the opposite could be observed, even the most disorganized people had to tidy their offices because of internal regulations, but the alternative almost never happened. No one tidied his home this precisely then left his office in that condition. Valerie had discovered the photo from Pearson Chemical's webpage, where they showed a gallery of their work stations in the working environment, and it dated back before his disappearance.

"Do you have the visual?" Bruce asked, tucking the tablet into belt.

"Yeah, loud and clear."

"Does it remind you something?" When Valerie didn't speak, he quipped, "Something must be really interfering to our feed. Look at the room. Doesn't it seem familiar?"

Valerie still stayed silent for a few seconds, "Ivakonovic!" then exclaimed. "He's a symmetry freak like him."

"No, he isn't," Bruce confronted, walking toward the open kitchen, "check his office photo."

She did, and Bruce waited for her to come to same conclusion. "So he left his studio more tidy than his office has ever been before he disappeared or—"

"Or someone took care of it," Bruce completed her sentence with deep grating rasp. "Find the security cameras on this block, and look for something suspicious," he ordered.

He heard her sharp inhale, then she asked, "For how long?"

"Six months."

"Six-months?" she exclaimed. "You're not serious."

"Valerie—"

"It's gonna take days!"

"Ask for Alfred's help—"

"I hate video assignments."

"Valerie—"

"If I'm gonna need to put on glasses because of you, Bruce Wayne—" she stopped dead, another sharp inhale following, "Uh-oh."

He didn't like the sound, not a bit. "What happened?"

"Bruce, we have a problem," she breathed out.

"I gathered that."

"The police just made an announcement on your whereabouts."

* * *

The inside of Mrs. Adler's house looked a lot less intimidating, Selina decided.

Perhaps it had been because of the security protocols she had managed to bypass, or that taciturn bodyguard she had managed to fool, or perhaps it was because of the little appetizers waiting for her on the coffee table.

One thing was for sure; Mrs. Adler was a perfect host. Laughing silently, Selina threw a brownie into her mouth. She chewed the sweet pastry slowly, devouring its sticky chocolate flavor, and let her eyes wander. The dim light of the hearth cast shadows over the carpeted walls, her furniture was out of date, coming from forty years back, but still elegant and royal, and still too much, if you asked her personal opinion. There again, there were many things about Mrs. Adler that came from forty years earlier.

The opera Mrs. Adler had picked had four acts, and that meant she had still plenty of time. She walked around the study, studying the few knick-knacks on the upper shelves of her bookcases, and if she wasn't entirely wrong, a first edition of Arsene Lupin. The thought brought a smile to her lips, and she decided to add it to her treasure. There hadn't been any mention of books but she would add it as a secondary fee.

She poured herself a glass of wine from the mini bar, took the book from the shelf and went to the leather armchair in the corner, just beside hearth. The waning fire warmed her surroundings, and her smile widened as she dropped herself into the seat and tossed her head back. She closed her eyes.

She was an old, pretty lady, who had come from a lovely evening with a certain gentlemen, a bridge night—or perhaps a night at the opera—but sleep had eluding her. So she had put a creamy long silk robe, and came to her study, and picked up Arsene Lupin, the one also had _Herlock Sholmes_ in, her favorite issue. She treated the book carefully while reading, slowly turning pages, like she was reading a sacred relic, like she was afraid to touch it—and then a chirped word in her ear distracted her attention from her daydream.

She straightened her back, and turned up the volume of police radio in her ear, the last gift from John. The report went on with codes and abbreviations, but the gist of it was hard to miss; 'Batman. Madison Avenue.'

Making a mental note to herself to study the codes, she smiled brightly as she placed the book on the coffee table, and stood up. She fished her phone out of her utility belt and called Valerie.

* * *

"How did they learn about it!" Valerie fumed in his ear as Bruce studied the dots. "Are you sure no one saw you tonight?" she asked.

He wasn't going to even bother answering that. Not when a cluster of forty police officers were approaching him fast. "You see," Valerie commented reasonably, "this is why we need Gordon. Without his interference, they would have brought the whole GPCD down on your head."

"Valerie, not now," he warned, even though she had a point. "I'm moving up to the roof."

"Negatory," she disagreed. "The blueprints of the block are on the screen." A close up of Madison Avenue appeared on his screen. "Madison's roofs are not for flying bats," Valerie sustained.

"I'm taking the fire exit," he said, moving to the left side of the studio which held the fire exit door. He pushed the door open, emerged on the ladder, then in his ear Valerie made one of those sounds again. And Bruce just knew this one was even worse. Worse than forty policemen who were hell bent on catching him— preferably dead.

"What is it?" he asked, taking the first step on the ladder. He tied his ankles over the rails then slid down.

His heavy combat boots hit the pavement hard as he landed, crouched, his cape floating behind him. "What is it?" He asked again standing up, and walked toward to the Batpod.

"It's Selina—" He stopped in his tracks.

"Repeat that again."

"Selina is calling," she repeated biting off each word.

A heavy groan on the tip of his tongue, Bruce ordered, "Open the channels, and answer her, and no provoking."

Valerie growled at him, but before she could respond, he ordered again, "Answer the phone."

And she did. "What do you want, Selina?" Well, it wasn't terribly provoking.

"Patch me to him, Val."

"I'm not your fucking secretary."

Selina sighed. "Valerie, stop wasting my time. Patch me to him."

"I'm listening, Selina," Bruce interrupted. "Talk, fast."

"A little bit in a bind, are we? I know," Selina shot back. "That's why I called. 72nd, second floor, the window is open. Hurry up."

Then the line went dead.

* * *

"Bruce, if you sever the link again," Valerie started as soon as Selina hung up.

He pivoted his body right and hid in the next alley, looking at the building that lay to his left. "I won't," he answered, and asked, "Why didn't you tell me she was out too?"

"I didn't think I needed to," she defended heatedly. "She's probably out every night, _practicing._"

"Find out who is living there," was his only answer. This was ridiculous, his life was getting ridiculous.

Biting off a hurtful remark, her hands flew over the key board. "Laura Adler," Valerie informed him a couple of minutes later. "A seventy three year old lady," she paused a second, "not exactly one from your circle."

"Mrs. Adler," he repeated, "she's one of the old Gothamites. But—"

Valerie interrupted him, "She's definitely broadening her horizons from the Palisades."

"Yeah—" he admitted, "I'm going."

"Bruce—"Valerie objected, "She might be the one who ratted you out to the police."

"She didn't see me," Bruce declared.

"Are you sure?"

"Valerie, we didn't even know she was here. How she could have known?" he reasoned, as he pulled Selina's address over the map, and added, "And Selina wouldn't do that."

Valerie stayed silent for a second, then forced out, "She would if she wanted to play."

He turned toward the address on the map. "There is only way to find out," he grated.

"In that case," she spat, "Don't make her wait."

It was clear, Bruce then decided, tonight was going to be one of those nights. He checked the trackers again. The police was closing on in him from the north, so that direction out of the question. He lowered the binoculars, tucked it in his utility belt, and heard sirens from the distance, approaching. He'd better to move. He left the Batpod where it was, and turned to south.

"Are you there yet?" Valerie asked three minutes later.

"On the way," he rasped out.

"Bruce, if you cut the link—"

"Valerie," he grated her name as a warning, "I told you I won't. Stop pestering me."

"Fine," she bit out.

A growl rose again, but he held it in, again; talk about being stuck in hard places.

When he jumped into house through the window Selina had instructed, he saw her sitting on a big armchair, her feet propped on a puff in front of the seat, one hand holding a glass of wine, as the other held a hardcover book, while she read it carelessly.

_Huh?_

"What the fuck is going on there?" Valerie put what he had thought in words better than he could. Selina lifted her mask covered face and smiled at him. "Oh, hi."

"What's going on?"

Selina smiled further, dropping her legs, and setting the glass and book on the coffee table. She stood up and walked to him. "Ironic, isn't it? We just keep saving each other asses." Her gaze skipped down toward his body part in question. "Fortunately, that fine asset are worth saving."

Valerie scoffed, Bruce glared at Selina. "Selina, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing, I was in the neighborhood, and heard your little—law enforcement problem, and thought I could be a help."

Valerie scoffed again, Bruce narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and Selina scowled at him. "Funny, isn't it? We were in the _same_ neighborhood? _Again._ How lucky is that?"

Bruce remained silent. Selina asked again, "Were you chasing me, Batman? Wishing to catch the cat?" She took a few steps closer, and her eyes pierced through his. "Be careful what you wish for."

Perhaps, Bruce thought, Valerie had been right. His eyes squinted to a flat line as he looked around. Taking a step back, Selina laughed aloud, sensing his thoughts. "_Relax._ I didn't set you up. Have a glass of wine. Mrs. Adler has excellent taste."

"Selina, what exactly are you doing here?"

She tilted her head. "What does it look like?"

"Like you're break into places you have no right to be in, and enjoying the wine and books of your unwilling hosts." And she was doing it rather—_easily_.

"Relax," Selina repeated, rolling her eyes. "as of the moment, Mrs. Adler is enjoying the final act of the Phantom of the Opera."

"Up, we're going," he ordered.

She arched an eyebrow. "They're still looking for you outside."

"I'll find a way to deter them."

She dropped herself on the armchair again. "Well, I don't feel like flying over the rooftops tonight."

"Up."

"Careful, Batman," Selina said curtly, "This isn't Valerie you're speaking to."

Valerie growled at the mention of her name, his hand moved to switch to disconnect her link—"If you cut me off, Bruce Wayne," Valerie seethed, "don't you dare come back to the manor tonight."

Selina said, "I'm staying, in fact, I've decided I want company. You're staying too."

Bruce wanted to yell at both women to stop making his life difficult, this _was_ ridiculous. He needed to be out, finding that man, finding who was responsible, not in this—this...whatever it was. "Final act," he snarled, "she'll be back in moments."

"Very well," Selina said, and took her phone from her belt. She dialed a number and put the speakers on. "Are you done?" a man's voice asked, a voice that seemed familiar.

"Not yet," Selina answered sternly. "Tell Mrs. Adler to have a coffee after the show."

She snapped the phone close, and looked at Bruce. "Now since we settled that, sit down."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "She knows you're here?"

"Of course," Selina replied with a bored tone. "Now, you really don't think I'd go on a thieving spree without making perfectly sure that I come out clean, do you?"

"Insurance fraud," Bruce rasped as it finally dawned on him. Andrews, her, all these people...the security protocols she had easily managed to bypass..."You're doing it for the insurance money."

Selina shrugged. "Some of them have cash follow problems. Some of them thought they could make some money back on the premiums they have been paying for years. Either way, we came to an agreement. I make it look good, and they sell it to the insurance investigators," she picked up her glass, "then everyone lives happily ever after."

She lifted the glass up. "So enjoy the fine hospitality of dearest Mrs. Adler." She waved her other hand over the coffee table. "She even left us cakes." He glared at her. She let out another loud laugh. "I told this to Valerie once. When I came to Gotham, I had no idea it was going to be this much fun." Her face split with an enormous smile. "So… what am I going to get for my help tonight?"

He kept staring at her. With a sigh, she stood up, and closed in on him. "Bruce, what's she doing?" Valerie asked. Bruce decided he should have severed her link the moment Selina had called.

Selina stopped just an inch away from him, and leaned forward. "A kiss?" He stayed still, as she lifted her head up in invitation, he determinately kept his eyes on hers, refusing to let them drift below. Her eyes twinkled with amusement. Valerie let out an inhuman growl in his ear. "Not even a hug?"

"Stop this, Selina."

"You know what we need to do, Batsy," Selina breathed out, "We need to participate in some group bounding activities."

He glared at her even harder. Rolling her eyes, she huffed, "Still no? Alright then, just admit this." She moved her lips over his ear, and whispered huskily. "We make a damn good team."

He didn't answer, just flickered his eyes to look at her, then he heard a familiar clink in his ear.

Valerie had severed their link.

Bruce took a step back. "Stop this nonsense, Selina, I'm not your play thing."

She gave him a mocking smile, then it hardened, as she took a step back too. "And I'm nothing like the lot you're running after."

"No, you're not," Bruce said as he perched on the edge of the window. His hand caught the frame. "You're better than this."

He leapt out, but not before seeing Selina looking at him, frozen in place.

Thirty minutes later, when he returned to the cave, Valerie was standing in the middle of it.

He jumped down from the bike, taking the cowl off, and threw it aside. She approached him fast. "Valerie," he started but was cut off by her hand landing on his cheek.

She turned on her heels and stormed off to the lift.

* * *

Head spinning, legs trembling, hands shaking Valerie stood in the middle of their—no—no-his bedroom, and waited… for what she didn't know. She didn't know anything anymore. Then Bruce burst in, looking perplexed, tired and very angry. "Are you fucking out of your mind?" He growled out.

She shot him a very nasty glare then wordlessly turned her back. "What's going on Valerie, what's the problem _this time_?"

She had had enough, had really had enough—with—with—with—everything. She turned and pointed a threatening finger at him. "Don't you dare mock me about this, Bruce Wayne! Don't you fucking dare!"

"I'm not!" he protested. "I don't even know what this is about!"

"Stop playing fucking clueless with me!"

"Valerie—"

"You were flirting with her!"

"What?" Bruce exclaimed.

"YOU WERE FLIRTING WITH HER!"

He let out a defeated sigh. "Valerie, this jealousy of yours is getting ridiculous. I—"

"My jealousy is getting ridiculous?" She repeated with a barked out laugh, then shoved him at his still armored chest with an accused glare. "You've been chasing her for days-you fucking put her on surveillance, you fucking run after her ever night… you all of people, and you can't even get her stop what she's doing."

"Valerie, how can I stop her when she dangles her threats over my head, and whose fault is that?"

"Yeah, my fault," she cried out. "It's all Valerie's fault."

He heaved a sigh. "Valerie, think. We've talked about this before. Don't let her get under your skin."

She snickered. "You don't seem to have many objections to letting her get under _your_ skin."

"Stop this," he said sternly. "She saved my ass tonight."

"Oh, she did, didn't she? Your fucking _teammate_ saved the day."

He grabbed her. "I'm going to go ask you once again, Valerie, what's the problem?"

"I should have been there. I—I should have been the one saving your ass, not her," she shouted, shaking his hands off. "I thought she was intrigued by you, but you're—intrigued by her too. Don't even try to deny it. You have romantic dates on rooftops, or—or at crime scenes—"

"For god's sake, I'm running after her because she's got a chain through my nose. We're not having romantic dates!"

"Yes…yes, you are. She's out every night to pick up your attention—"

"She's out to _STEAL!_"

She shook her head fiercely. "No, she's out there for YOU, and every night you dutifully run to her. You have feelings for her!"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE!" he bellowed throwing his hands up in the air. "How can I have feelings for her when she does nothing but threaten me?"

"I threatened you, blackmailed you, I even pulled a gun on you, and you fell in love with me! Why couldn't you have feelings for Selina too? She entertains you, intrigues you, and now she SAVES you too!" She shoved him back at his chest. "I'm the secured one, the one in the pocket, and she's the new mad banshee you're running after to redeem."

She ran to bathroom. The world spun around her so fast she grabbed the sink, and then looked at the mirror…Valerie… not even different, too familiar… without even the fucking nightmares now…Valerie…. She let out a frustrated scream, and her hand curled around something beside the basin. She threw it at the mirror then opened the shower and hopped in, turning the tap to cold.

The coldness ran all over her body, wetting her clothes and she trembled, trembled, trembled, fell backwards, her back hitting the shower wall… Tamed by him... her tears mixed with water… she was the one who had lost her appeal.

Strong arms pulled her off of the wall, into their embrace. She opened her eyes to meet Bruce's, water dripping over his face. His hands pushed her wet hair back. "I don't have feelings for her," he whispered. "I can't have feelings for anyone when I'm madly in love with you."

"I'm the easy one," she mumbled, hiding her face in his chest. "I'm the secured one," she sighed, shaking, "the one that got tamed—"

He clutched either side of her face and made her look at him. "Tell me what you want—tell me, Valerie. Tell me."

"I want to—misbehave, too."

He nodded as his jaw clenched with determination. He swept her up and carried her out of the shower then out of the bathroom. "Your shoes? Where are they?"

Valerie gave him a dazzled look. "Don't bother—" he said dropping her on the bed, and went to pick up the first pair inside her closet. He put her in black flats and stripped himself out of his armor, then put on the first clothes that came to his hand; the dirty sweaty t-shirt he had been wearing before, and plain faded jeans. He grabbed her hand to pull her on her feet, and tugged at her.

"Bruce-?"

He twirled her around and rested her back on the door. "I'm not going to lose you, Valerie. I am not. You want to misbehave?" He slid the door open and pushed her out. "_Fine_."

Alfred saw them at the end of the staircase, as he dragged her along. The older man raised his eyebrows at Bruce, taking in their current state. "We're fine, Alfred," Bruce said before he could say anything, "just going out to get a little fresh air."

Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of the Liquid Heart, and dropped the key into the waiting man's hand before securing Valerie to his side. The crowd that was gathered in front of the doors gaped at them, at her wet every-day clothes and his dirty un-Bruce Wayne-like attire, but he didn't give them any notice.

He walked quickly inside, past the first floor, dragging her along until they made it to the third. They walked beside several bodyguards who let them pass without any comment, dutifully stepping aside then he turned her to the left. They followed a deserted corridor and a muscled man opened a door for them without a word.

The door closed behind them after they stepped in, and Valerie looked at Bruce with eyes full of questions. "What's this, Bruce?"

"What does it look like?" he asked back, pulling her down the scarlet corridor, decorated with mirrors framed with golden foil. "Liquid Heart hosts special events for interested parties every weekend."

"And you know this because?"

Bruce faltered in his steps to give her a look. "I'm Bruce Wayne. The fact that I don't usually participate doesn't mean I'm out of the circle."

Valerie gave him a suspicious look, "Usually?"

"Sometimes I used to show up for show."

"Mm…hmm."

He stopped in front of a big double door with loud music coming from other side, and put his hand on her back. "Go in." He pulled the door open and shoved her inside.

Valerie drew a deep breath in and looked around. People in glamorous Venetian masks, in delicate expensive underwear or revealing vintage costumes, were cluttered around the lush furniture; beds, sofas, armchairs, in groups or just standing by, some already having sex, some making out, some just watching. An orgy…he'd brought her to a freaking exclusive orgy.

She turned to look at Bruce. His greasy clothes looked pitiful among the masses of glamour, and she didn't even want to think about her soaked jeans and sweater. She heaved deeply. "Bruce, what are we doing here?"

He pulled her closer, his hands gripping her waist like clamps. "We're going to misbehave," he declared sternly, his voice low and close to his intimidating rasp. "As long as I'm involved, we'll do whatever you want. Look around and make up your mind. A woman, or a man, or do you just want them to watch us?" He got even closer. "Or perhaps you want them to watch you having me, Bruce Wayne, bound and completely at your mercy. Make up your mind. What do you want?" She closed her eyes. "Whatever you decide, I'm on board."

She opened her eyes, and looked around again… all those people… strangers…she didn't even know their names, and Bruce she knew from heart, deep from her heart, who was willing to do this because he cared so much, because he loved her so deeply. She shivered. "Bruce—"

"Yes?"

"Bruce," she sobbed again, words coming with difficulty. "Bruce—take me home. I don't—want to."

"Valerie, no—we're going to do this. I've had enough this 'got tamed by you' thing."

She shivered again, and shook her head. "No…I don't want to…I don't want to go back to that." She rested her forehead against his chest. "I don't want to wake up the morning with strangers, or passed out somewhere that I don't remember how I ended up at. I don't want to be that girl any more. Bruce, please. Take me back home."

He pulled her even closer as her body shook. "Okay, baby, okay." He lifted her up into his arms. "I'm taking you home."

He exited the club even faster than before, tilted his head to the man for the car and a few seconds later settled her inside. When he got in, she leapt on him, sat on his lap, her legs swinging on his left. She slid down, under his arms, and rested her head below his chest, already kissing his neck. "Bruce, pull over," she breathed a second later, her voice trembling, "Want you now."

"Home—" he rasped.

"No…" she shook her head, raising herself up a little, and blanketing his face with faint little kisses.

Bruce pulled his face away from her assault. "Baby, home, wait a little longer…" She didn't stop, coming closer again. "Valerie, stop, please. I'm driving."

"No, now, can't wait…"

"Valerie, you're shivering. You're cold."

"Then make me warmer—"

"Val—" he rasped out as she trailed her tip of her tongue under his ear.

Her left hand flew over the car's console, as the other opened his window and she took the key and threw it outside.

"Valerie, not again!"

"Need you, now, please," she panted out. "Don't make me beg."

Bruce pulled the car over then, twisting her body to the right to make her mount properly over him, hands already unbuckling her pants. "Up," he murmured as he unzipped her. She followed, raising her hips, balancing her palms on his shoulders as he eased off the soaked jeans and panties. Leaning in for a kiss, she kicked them off at his feet. Returning her kiss, he raised his own hips to pull off his pants before pulling her back on his crotch. She pulled her legs up, straddling him as Bruce positioned himself at her entrance. She slowly lowered herself down.

Her fingers curled into his skin, nails digging in, and she pulled them from his shoulders to his chest, stretching, as she began to move over him. Following her rhythm, he moved with her. Her back arched, her head tossed back, she lifted one arm to brace it on the car's roof, the other one flew back to wheel for balance, and she picked up her speed, riding him wildly.

Her eyes closed, the desperate expression on her face got lost behind the feral light of her features as they twisted into a smile. His eyes stuck on her, and Bruce watched, enchanted. In his life-even with his celibacy- he had seen—had experienced sensually powerful things but he had never seen something like this before. There was something almost inhumanly savage about it, about the way she moved over him, the way she tossed her hair back over her shoulders, the way she bit her lips, drawing blood… forever untamed, and uncultivated. He remembered their first time in Bernie's, the way she looked there, then he remembered Felicia, the red lipped she devil; the woman that could have killed your soul as easily as she could have saved it. Then she opened her eyes.

Feral, she looked feral, eyes burning with a fierce fire, glinting, then her lips twisted up as she ran the tip of her tongue over them and tasted her own blood.

Bruce shuddered. Leaning down, she braced her hands on both sides of his head. Instead of a kiss, her teeth sunk into his lips, and she drew his blood, too. She pulled back, running her tongue over his blood smearing it with her own. "I'm not a good girl," she forced out.

"No—"Bruce had to accede on that point, "but you're not a bad one either."

Suddenly, her motions halted as if she was shot dead at heart, her expression froze, and she looked at him with wide-set-eyes, stuck in the moment. "Bruce?"

"Valerie—" He breathed.

She closed her eyes. "Bruce—I don't want to be that girl."

"Then don't."

She opened her eyes, slowly started to move above his body, raised her hand to caress his hairline, that ferocity fading, leaving its place to an expression of pure affection, admiration and—love. She breathed deeply, rocked her hips, her hands finding his. "Bruce—I'm a lucky girl," she said, smiling, genuinely, sincerely.

"I'm a lucky guy too."

"We're both lucky," she laughed lightly, almost shyly.

"Yeah—we're both lucky."

She moaned, rocking her body, tossing her hair, breathing laboriously as her eyes never left his, their folded hands hovering just above the seat. Then she bent down further, "Baby, turn us around."

"No—stay on top," Bruce grunted out.

"No…" she eased out with a deep moan, "turn us around, want something simple—not monkey sex. I want you—want to be under you—please-" She moaned as her back hit the seat, and she hummed, satisfied.

"Better—?"

She wrapped herself around him tightly as he rose over her as much as he could in the cramped space. "Much better," she eased out, her speech slurred, and truly content as she pulled him down further.

Fifteen minutes—endless, glorious minutes later, she came, her grip on him tightening like she wanted to squeeze all of him into herself, and Bruce followed her, letting himself go, and dropping on her. Two and half minutes later, he rose on his hands, but Valerie pulled him down again, crushed under his weight, but she didn't mind. "Don't go," she whispered.

He lifted his eyes to catch hers. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"Then stay," she said.

* * *

Minutes later, he gently pulled back, and pulled up his jeans. Sighing faintly, he bent down to find hers, and handed them to her. "Come on, move, we need to find the key."

He opened the door and jumped down over her body. Looping her legs through the jeans, she raised her hips to pull them up and fastened her buttons. She got out to join him beside the car. She trembled slightly in the wind, and bowed her head. "Are you mad at me?"

"Mad?" he asked, "No, I'm not. But I want one thing clear between us, Valerie. I don't want to tame you. What we have here...We're bonding, establishing ties, a deeper connection—" he trailed off, then closed in on her. "I don't want to turn you into a trophy wife. And you're still just as wild as you ever were. If you want proof, just look around. We're sitting in the middle of nowhere because you threw the key out, for the second time."

She lifted her head, let out a sigh, and took a step forward. "I—I'll find it, you go sit in the car."

He grabbed her at the waist and pulled back. "Don't be ridiculous. And we're not done talking yet. There is still this matter with Selina—"

She shook her head fiercely at the mention of her name, and cut him off. "I won't let her get under my skin again, Bruce, I won't. I promise."

He shook his head back. "No, I want you to understand something else. Selina and I—Valerie, listen to me. If there is a reality somewhere out there in which you don't exist, Selina and I—might have something, I don't exactly know what but _something_. But if only you don't exist. Get this clear, and stop doubting my feelings. As long as you're in my world, there is no chance for anyone else with me."

"For anyone?" she asked hesitantly with a small voice, "Even with Rachel?"

He nodded affirmative, "Even Rachel."

She threw herself at him. "There is no chance for anyone with me either, as long as you breathe—even after that, it's just not possible with anyone else."

Taking a deep breath, he hugged her back, and rested his head on her shoulder. He gave a breath out, kissing her neck, and pulled her closer to his chest. Goodness, just half an hour ago, he had been about to participate in an orgy because of this woman—"The things we do for love," he muttered.

"Yeah, frightening, isn't it?" She let out a half shy giggle. "We'll have to crawl all over the earth to find the stupid key."

His hand lowered across her back to his pocket, and he fished out his phone. He gave her a quick a little smile. "Let's not." He dialed and brought the phone to his hear. "Alfred, hi, can you—uh, lock on Valerie's transmitter? We're—um kind of stranded—again." He paused, "Yeah. Thanks."

She gazed down at her wrist, then to the sky, where the sun was slowly rising, and sighed. "Poor Alfred—"

"The things we do for love," he repeated again.

* * *

_Okay, I admit, I find the notion of Bruce wanting to get involve with an orgy to keep Valerie is incredibly _romantic_. Twisted, and highly dysfunctional, yes, but then again, straight and functional never have been my key words for these two, which you probably noticed if you are with me from the beginning. :)_

_The things we do for love, is inspired by the amazing last scene between Baltar and Six in the finale of Battlestar Galactica, which I loved in galactic proportions, and 'then stay' is from one of my oldest story for Daniel and Vala, possibly one of the first things I've written, and it'll always hold a very special place in my heart for that reason. Needless to say, I was dying to use it here, too, with Bruce and Valerie._

_As always, till the next time, stay well._


	33. The Wish

_"We are who we choose to be," sang the goldfinch, when the sun was high._

_Sandman, in Exile_

**Chapter Twenty Eight:**

**The Wish**

* * *

Agreed on a silent deal, Bruce never mentioned what had happened, and Valerie played along. She'd decided it was better this way. The experience still brought shame to her whenever she thought about it, reddening her cheeks to a blaze of heat, and she wondered if his new 'nothing happened' attitude was more for her benefit than his.

Nevertheless, it was a game she knew how to play, and it was really better this way.

And Sunday was coming.

Lifting her head, she watched the stars. Even in this deserted part of the city, they were veiled with city lights, pale and weak, closer to what they were in reality, a reflection that had faded long ago. She heaved a sigh, bowing her head. Sunday was coming, and Ramirez was running late. Valerie hoped the detective wasn't getting cold feet.

Perhaps Bruce was right, maybe she had read Ramirez wrong...Maybe she wasn't feeling that guilty, _not that much_, maybe the new man in her life was making her see things differently. Ramirez had used to visit her mother in the nursery every week. First she had thought of it as a duty that the young woman felt obligated to do, but she had seen later that it was another way for Ramirez to punish herself. Seeing what she had traded for her and another man's innocence. A woman's life for another's slow, painful death. Her mother was dying, and no amount of traded life was going to change that. And Ramirez knew that.

Momentarily, she thought if she could do the same, for him. The answer brought a chill that made the small hairs on her arms stand up straight. She wrapped her arms over herself. She knew the answer; she had known it since she saw Bruce shot that night. She would, she would do anything, anything, to make him live even for a second, just for a second more, even if it meant she had to sell her own soul at whatever price.

Ramirez and her—they shared more common ground than she had first believed.

And she needed to deal with Selina, she understood that clearly, it was her responsibility. The whole Selina business was her mess, and she needed to take care of it, had to settle things before they spiraled even more out of control. Just not behind Bruce's back. Never again.

Her mind settled on her decision, she nodded to herself. Selina wasn't a threat, not the kind she was afraid of. Bruce was hers, it was funny, but he really was hers. A smile appeared on her lips, and before she could change her mind, she picked up her phone and sent a message to him. _"Tell Alfred not to do anything for tonight. I'm gonna cook you dinner."_

And brilliant man that he was, his answer was only a simple 'okay.'

She smiled, tucking her phone in her pocket and continued waiting. God, she really hoped Ramirez wasn't getting cold feet. This whole experience was starting to seem a lot like legal dramas on TVs, the lawyers finding witnesses, and trying to persuade them to deposition, perhaps, Bruce had been right again. They would have made good lawyers, suing the bears for negligence.

Silently she snorted at her absurdity, while trying to mute the apprehensive voices in her mind. That was another thing she hadn't noticed before Bruce; apprehension, worrying about everything. Saying that wasn't her would be easy, but she also knew it wouldn't be true. She stole a quick glance at her wrist; fifteen minutes late.

God, this new Valerie was starting to get on her nerves.

Then finally, before she lost her mind any further, Ramirez showed up in the park, walking from the left side, her pace slightly halted but nevertheless she had come. She sat slowly next to her on the bench, and Valerie saw the same dirk circles under her eyes. If her distress before had been worrisome, after seeing her like that, it rocketed. She shook her head, and groaned. "You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

Ramirez shot her a look, like she didn't understand what she was referring. "The case, the confession—" she clarified, and declared needlessly, "You have second thoughts."

"Steve—" Ramirez blurted out with a squeak, "Steve—he asked me to marry him tonight."

She closed her eyes. Fuck. Bruce was right. She should have seen this coming. "I didn't think you were that serious," she managed to force out.

"Because I wasn't worth it," Ramirez fired heatedly.

Tilting her head, she gave the detective a heavy look, and said deliberately. "You only went out a couple of times."

"Well, it appears that it was enough for him to decide," Ramirez said, "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think it'd be like this. But this—it—I—" She faltered, then looked away. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Valerie hissed. "That's all you've got to say? You're sorry."

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it. I made a mistake, didn't think right. And I've been paying for it ever since. But I have a way out now, for a new life—"

"And you're gonna forget the other lives."

"I didn't kill them. I didn't know—" she repeated almost sobbing.

"What did you think would happen, detective?" Valerie asked the question Dent had asked her a year ago. Ramirez recognized it as well, and her eyes welled, as she shook. "You still don't have an answer for that question, do you?"

Ramirez stayed silent, Valerie shook her head. "Whatever you say to yourself, it won't make you sleep at night, Anna. You know it won't. Don't pretend otherwise. You won't find happiness with Steve."

"Don't you see—" Ramirez all but screamed, tears in her eyes.

"What I see is a woman who is chasing empty dreams, while a man is chased by fifty police officers with a kill on sight order when he is the only innocent person in this shit."

"I helped him," Ramirez pointed out, tears in her eyes, her hands limp at her sides.

"I know, but I need more," she said bluntly, and went on. "Remember what I said to you, Anna?"

The detective didn't answer, her slightly widened puffy red eyes were only indicator that she knew. She had tried, she really had, but in the end she had always known it would come to this point. She stood up. "I'm sorry if it seemed different, but sometimes we don't really have a choice."

* * *

Sitting next to Donnie in the car, Alex tried to control the panic that was starting to build. Alex never panicked. He always knew what he had to do, and what he didn't need to do. And he also knew what he wanted to do. Those aspects of his life were now memories from his past, a pleasant reminder taken from the old days, where everything was open and clear, where life was simple, where his thoughts and dreams weren't occupied with that damn woman.

Speaking of whom...the panic accelerated, as Donnie arrived on her block, and Alex started searching for familiar faces in the crowd passing by. The foot traffic was heavy in this part of the city, something he had already known, and even though he was sure Selina had made sure Holly stayed put after their talk, Alex didn't want to take any chances.

Not with Donnie. Especially since Selina had started once again with her nighttime activities. _The Catwoman._ His teeth started to grind with his old fury, remembering their first time, the time she had kicked his ass. It had taken only one look for him to understand who the mysterious Catwoman the press was having a field day with was.

"Are you okay, man," the man asked with his heavy drawl, "you seem a little off. Is it the car?" he asked laughing, his hands caressing his old Mustang.

Alex's moved his eyes to the dark man. "The car is fine," his hands loosened his tie, "Though, the air conditioner needs to be fixed." He rolled the window down, and extended his arm out. "What I don't understand is what we're doing in this part of the city."

"Why," the man asked, his eyes inspecting him carefully. "You don't like this part of the city?"

Danger bells rung in his mind, as Alex answered with same veiled carefulness, "The bars are good, the girls are even better."

"Yes," the former chauffer hit the wheel, and gestured exaggeratedly, "and this is why we're gonna have a drink—"he stopped and pointed the bar in the corner, "in Lux."

"Lux?" Alex asked back.

"Nice name, isn't it?" Donnie answered back. "Light. Ever come here?"

"Once or twice," Alex answered tacitly. "They make a good martini, if memory serves right." He eyed the shed like place. "Not something you'd expect from here, I know."

Donnie turned off the motor, and snuck a glance at him. "Sometimes you find things in places you least expect."

Before Alex commented on his ambiguous remark, the dark haired man got off the car. Alex followed him, the subtle hint of panic he had felt earlier stepped up a notch, and he realized he was nervous. And Alex was never nervous. Never. He was raw around the edges, but sharp with clear-set intentions, he was bluntly honed, and curt, but he was never nervous. Or he hadn't been until he met _her_. He gritted his teeth silently, as his thoughts turned to her, and he banged the door with more force than necessary.

Donnie turned around and raised his eyebrow at him. He didn't look back at him. The rascal was up to something. That much was very clear. He was up to something. His mind raced to the days he had wasted here, watching her. Could it be that Donnie had seen her? If he had seen Holly things would be very different, but Selina... Selina was a stranger to him. No one of importance.

They walked inside the Lux together. Donnie's eyes wandered around the bar, then he nodded appreciatively. "It's nicer inside."

Alex didn't reply, instead settled on one of the bar stools. He didn't need to answer idle questions anymore. That was apparently Donnie's show. The former chauffer would talk on his terms. Alex knew this game, and knew that the dark haired man was playing it now. The thing he'd forgotten was that Alex didn't play according to anyone else rule's. So he dropped all pretenses. "Donnie," he said sternly, motioning to the barmen for two drinks. "Why were you following me?"

The man gave him an undefined look, his features casual, "Follow you? Man—"

"_Don't_," Alex warned curtly. "I won't ask this—friendly the second time."

The easy expression on his face dropped instantly, and his jaw hardened. "You're planning a coup," he declared.

Alex looked at him, his eyes barely holding back the sheer shock he was feeling. A coup. "A coup," he slowly stated, realization dawning. "You think I plan to throw Andrei over." He bit off the laughter coming to the tip of his tongue, and eyed his drink. If only Donnie knew exactly how he was betraying Andrei.

"Oh, don't play oblivious with me," the man said, taking his contained amusement to the wrong side of the conclusions. "I wasn't born yesterday." He paused a second and fixed his eyes at him pointedly. "Andrei knew it too. _He_ sent me after you."

The amusement he had felt extinguished at the mention of Andrei's name. The he decided things couldn't have been more fucked up. "Why are you telling me about it?" he asked.

"Because—" Donnie said, "the Warrior is getting old. And when I look at you, I see opportunities."

Or he was sent to spy on him more closely, Alex thought grimly. "I'm not planning a coup, Donnie. Sorry," he added the last mockingly.

Donnie shot him a glance. "Andrei went to see the Madame," he said.

Alex's eyes betrayed him this time, the shock hearing her name widened them to the size of a saucer. "The Madame is in Gotham?"

"She was," Donnie answered, "She came to talk with _Andrei._" He closed his eyes. "I drove him to her." Donnie moved his stool to him, hunched over the bar, his hands holding the drink he had yet to take a sip of. "He knows the Supreme has made his move, Alex," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be in."

Shit, Alex decided, shit, shit, shit. Not like his problems weren't enough already, he needed to plan a coup against his boss now, too.

He picked up his drink, and gulped it in one swig, all while cursing once again the source of all the problems in his life; Selina Kyle.

* * *

She should have known better than to act on her impulses, but that never had been her best forte. _But, _she had always been at her best when it came to improvising. The things they really did for love.

She dug the knife into the peanut butter jar as she asked, "So that's the idea?" She pulled back a handsome amount and spread it over a slice of bread.

Bruce shot a look at her hands, his brows burrowing into a frown. "Technically it was Fox's idea," he countered. "When I asked him to search for their books, he found out they wouldn't mind merging with another—bigger—company—so—" he trailed off.

"So you're buying Pearson Chemicals," Valerie stated.

Bruce shrugged. "Well, it's the easiest way."

"And you _roasted_ me because I bought a spa," she muttered then motioned to the two jelly jars on the counter with the tip of her knife. "Strawberry or red raspberry?"

Following her gaze to the jars, Bruce heaved a sigh. "Valerie, when you said you were going to cook for me, I expected that the occasion would involve—you know, cooking."

"Jelly is _cooked_ fruit preserves, Bruce," she intoned matter-of-factly.

"Yeah_, right_," he countered sarcastically.

In answer, Valerie rolled her eyes. "Which one?"

"Strawberry."

Nodding, she took jelly from its jar and spread it over paste, and handed the sandwich to him. Bruce took it with another suspicious glance and took the first bite. She eyed at him curiously, "How is it?"

"It's—" Bruce replied, chewing, "—different."

She made a face. "Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are an American custom."

Bruce shrugged. "Alfred is more a roasted bread and marmalade guy."

She shook her head at him. "Sometimes, it really makes sense."

Bruce gave her a half lopsided grin, while taking another bite. "How is it going with Dale's apartment?"

"I watched the tapes beginning this year," Valerie answered, a slight tension in her voice, "Nothing seems unordinary so far, but I need to watch more—there were two men I've seen a couple times—"

"Two men?"

"Two _strange_ men," Valerie pointed out, "They seem out of place, you know—" She paused, a frown appearing between her eyebrows. "I ran them through the face recognition program but nothing came up."

"Hmm," Bruce said, his voice taking on gravity, as he took another bite,

"Yes," Valerie agreed, then they fell into silence. Bruce looked at her, she looked back. "I called Selina today," Valerie dropped the bomb. Bruce placed the sandwich down on the counter. "Look, I need to—"

"Valerie—"

"Bruce, listen to me." She walked around the counter to get to his side, and settled on the stool next to him. "I _need to_ talk with her, and settle this." She didn't know what to say beyond. Needing to face her—fear would be the most truthful thing, or something about the lack of her nightmares and everything else that led to her _last_ breakdown, but somehow the words wouldn't come. Taking another deep breath, she settled with, "I need to do this, Bruce."

After another moment of silence, Bruce finally nodded, as if he understood.

Which he probably did, smart man.

* * *

Georgina sat on her bench in the Central Park, Lodi sitting next to her, telling her an old story about his mother and his sister, as she knitted a daisy-chain, listening to him closely. "And her leg had to stay in cast for a whole month because of it," he finished his tale, laughing, as Georgina accompanied him.

The man let out a loud sigh, leaning backwards, the happiness was clear in his brightened face. Georgina looked at him with earnest eyes. "You do miss them, don't you?"

The man nodded, his voice was heavy with emotions and nostalgia when he answered, "Every day, Miss Georgina. They are my family."

She nodded back. "They are in the good hands now. And you always have their memories." She ran her eyes away, and a heavy silence settled between them. "It's always nice," she muttered, her eyes fixed ahead on a family that gathered around a picnic table, "having memories."

Lodi stayed silent for seconds, before he hesitantly asked, "Don't you—don't you have memories of your family, Miss. Are they-?"

Georgina shook her head. "No, they are very much alive. And—I have memories," she confessed, and forced herself to go on. She needed to go on, but it was hard to talk about those days, she couldn't even do it with Derrick. She had always been silent whenever he mentioned her family. There was nothing to talk about. But now she needed to talk. Not for her family, but for Elena. "I have memories," she repeated, "they are just not good ones."

"I'm sorry," Lodi muttered silently, bowing his head in shame. He was a good man, Georgina decided, an honorable man, like Derrick. But then again, every man Derrick kept was honorable in their own ways, Derrick wouldn't have been satisfied with anything else.

"My mother left us after I was born," Georgina explained, putting the daisy-chain next to her on the bank. "She decided that she was too young and too beautiful to settle down into her poverty stricken marriage. My father never forgave her, nor did he forgive me for what happened. He blamed me for her decision." She shook her head. "Soon he got married again then I was the little hindrance no one wanted."

"I'm sorry," he murmured again.

She shoved him playfully, blurring the lines of their relation, "Nah—don't. It wasn't that bad, it was just—loveless," she said, a deliberate carelessness in her tone, "and unhappy." Then she fixed him a look, and picked up the daisy chain again, "Though, I had good friends," she said and waited to gauge his reaction. "Close like family."

He nodded again, "It's good to have someone, Miss Georgina."

She laughed, "'Cause no man is an island," she quoted in her best Derrick tone.

Lodi laughed along with her, "Yeah." She put the chain on her head, as Lodi asked, "Are you seeing them now, miss? I've never seen you with any friends."

The pain looked on her features wasn't an act, as her eyes welled. She shook her head. "No—I—she—we fell apart. She fell in with bad people. Very bad people."

"Mr. Derrick knows about it?" he asked, incredulous at her confession. "Couldn't he help?"

"I—fell in with bad people too," she answered, shaking her head. "Derrick saved me, years ago. He doesn't want me to see her again."

"Why?"

"He's afraid," she said, tears dropping over her cheeks like a thin stream. "He's afraid he'd lose me."

"That's every noble man's fear," Lodi asserted, "A man should protect what's precious to him, at whatever cost."

"But she's there—" She grasped his hands, as her voice turned teary, "passing every day in such incredible pain that you can't even dream of it. While we're all here—living our lives like nothing is happening. It isn't fair."

Lodi could only nod. "I was six when my father died because we couldn't afford his medicine any more. Life is not fair, Miss Georgina."

"But she's there—"She all but shouted at him, "You don't know—"

"Miss Georgina," Lodi said, pulling his hands away from her grip. "Miss Georgina, what's that you want?" he asked.

"I need to save her!" she cried, "I need to save her, Lodi. Please, help me."

"Mr. Derrick—"

"—would never let me," she interrupted.

"With good reasons," Lodi finished. "You're most beloved to him." If it would have been any other time, Georgina would have snorted at that, but even that wasn't important now.

"You _have_ to help me," she said again.

"I gave my word that I'd protect you with my life," Lodi countered.

She stood up, heaving a sigh, the tears stopping, leaving their place to a coldness she felt deep inside. "I'm gonna save her," she declared, her arms hung tight against her sides, "And to keep your vow, you're gonna help me."

He stood up too. "I can tell Mr. Derrick."

"You won't," she objected. "You took the money, Lodi."

"I only took it for—"

She laughed; she really didn't want it to come to that, but in the end that was what they had always been. She had given him a chance, but she wouldn't apologize for being what she was. Not anymore. "Don't act clueless, Lodi. We both know that you took _more_ than you needed, and now you feel indebted to Derrick because he was ready to give you a second chance despite it."

"If you don't help me, Lodi," Georgina then said, "I'm gonna tell him that you tried to rape me."

He snapped his head up at her. "You wouldn't—"

She took a step closer. "I'm going to save _my sister_ from that hell, Lodi," she serenely said, "And you're going to help me. You don't have any choice."

* * *

Prepared for its groundbreaking, the perimeters of the old Gotham Hospital was alive and littered with metal plates, workers, and work machines. But it was the name etched into the new sign that grated on her already frayed temper. _Harvey Dent Memorial Hospital. _It had to go, Valerie set her mind on it. After tonight, after the show, the name was going away. Enough with this tragic comedy.

The rest was the same, the same traffic, with the same people honking at each other, the same urgency, if for different reasons. It was no wonder she never came to this side of the city. But now, she couldn't think any better place, any place that would suit more for this meeting. It had all started here, at the crossroads. And Selina needed to see that, needed to see how her life had—changed.

"Interesting place to meet," Selina said, settling her back on the subway's station, her hips propped on a short wall, this time there wasn't going to be tea or other pleasantries. "for—group bounding activities."

And it seemed Selina had gathered that as well. "It was your idea," she countered.

"My idea suggested _three_ people," Selina shot back, "but I count two, dearie."

She threw Selina a side glance. "I figured out that threesomes aren't my thing anymore."

"Pity," Selina cooed then asked, "Does he know?"

This time Valerie looked at her fully. "I don't keep secrets from him anymore, Selina. You know that."

Selina nodded. "So—"she said, "I guess this is where I ask you what's so special about this place but I think we both know the answer."

"I blackmailed him," Valerie said, turning her eyes away, looking at the place in question, "before I tried to expose him on live TV. I asked for three million dollars each year for the rest of my life for my silence."

"Let me guess, I didn't work out."

Valerie laughed sourly. "No." She glanced at Selina again. "But to my defense, it wasn't _him, _it was Fox."

That surprised Selina, she could see, "You blackmailed Lucius Fox?"

Valerie shrugged. "Yeah," she confessed, "Frankly, I hadn't said more than three words to Bruce before he came to collect me from a warehouse months later."

"Once a hero, always a hero," Selina muttered.

"Yeah," Valerie agreed again, then started from the beginning. "I came to his company as Cameron Reese for a con. It didn't go well, but I found the drawings you saw in the Archives, and put the dots together. But I was wrong. I thought he was backing him, not that he was actually _him_." Selina gave her a look. "I didn't know him like you, Selina," she pointed out. "For me, he was some rich dandy who fell asleep in board meetings. I went to Fox, and he rebuffed me—but I discovered the truth in the meantime. Then the Joker thing happened, and I decided to go to Engels to expose his identity for money."

Selina stayed silent for a while, then commented, "That was a very—stupid decision."

She shrugged. "I don't always make the best decisions."

Selina laughed. "I know."

"They put me in a safe house after he saved me in the crash," she waved her hands, "I ran away after I found out the police were looking for him for Dent's murder." Selina cocked her eyebrow. "Five months later, I called him from a warehouse, injured and out of options."

"And he came to your aid," Selina completed.

"He did," Valerie agreed, skipping to the end. "He agreed to pay the bills for my operation—"she waved her hands in front of her face, "in return for my silence and with the condition that I stay with him."

Surprisingly, Selina got the gist of it. "Because he believed you were better than—" her hand pointed the crossroads, "this." Selina sighed, her eyes fixed ahead, her words thoughtful. "Does he always believe the best of people?"

"That's what makes him what he is," Valerie countered without hesitating. "He doesn't trust people easily, but he—believes there is goodness in bad decisions."

Selina stayed silent, her eyes still fixed ahead. "Selina," Valerie said, "You allied yourself with Derrick Malkin." Selina snapped her head at her. "And just last week we put his—associate behind bars. You knew it, you were there." Valerie held her eyes, and went on, "The reason he's chasing you isn't because he wants to catch you. He's worried about you."

Selina laughed silently, shaking her head. "He cares about you," Valerie forced out. "You—are the only woman who managed to get behind his Rachel-walls, Selina," then added quickly, "until _me_." She let out a deep sigh. "I know you're intrigued by him," Selina gave her a look. "No—really, I don't blame you. I _would_ if you weren't. But you can't have him."

Selina's eyebrows rose as soon as the words left her mouth, and her eyes glinted, "Because you won't let me?"

"No," Valerie shook her head, "Because of him. Because he'd never let you. He loves me, Selina, I'm not sure how it happened, to tell the truth, but he fell in love with me. And you know how he is. We're talking about the guy who loved the same girl platonically for years and years while he could have had thousands. He's stuck that way."

"You forgot I already had him."

"That was a long time ago, Selina," she countered laughing, "And he's changed." Then she smiled, "Besides, I am _not_ Rachel."

"And I am _not_ Valerie either."

Her face sobered, she shook her head. "No, you're not," she agreed. "You found a chink in my armor and exploited it."

"I guess this puts us into a loop, Valerie," Selina interrupted.

Valerie shook her head. "But only because I _let_ you do it," she stated. "Because everyone has weak moments," she repeated Selina's words from weeks ago. "Everyone has a weakness."

Then Selina's face finally lost that look as her words settled in. "Holly, isn't that her name?" she asked, faking intrigue, as Selina's face closed off entirely, and anger filled her eyes. And the look on her face was something that Valerie knew very well. "Look at you, just the mere mention of her name." She shook her head. "Yeah, I know she's important to you. I've been watching you closely, Selina. You're very protective of her. I don't know why, but you're also very afraid."

"You—"

"Do you know why I don't know?" Valerie asked, cutting her off.

Selina only looked at her. "Because I'm _Valerie_," she announced, "Because Valerie _doesn't_ use sixteen year old girls as leverage." She pointed at the crossroads. "That woman could, but I don't want to be her. And every day, every single day, I'm choosing to be _Valerie_, not turning into a woman who could harm a sweet girl to get what she wants," she paused for a breath, closing her eyes, and tilting her head back, as she exclaimed, "but god help me, Selina, you're _not_ making it easy for me."

Selina nodded. "What do you want, _Valerie?_"

"You will stop endangering him," she stated. "We have enough problems as it is," she stressed. "We don't have time to lose with you."

"I will stop—getting in the middle of his business," Selina bit off, "but I'm not going anywhere."

"No," Valerie said adamantly. "Listen to me—"

"No, _you_ listen to me," Selina interrupted her heatedly. "I know Valerie can't fight with me, and that woman—"she waved her arm to the left, "can, but by doing so, you'd also lose your dear Bruce Wayne. There is more than one reason why you don't want to be that girl. So let's cut the crap, and—" she gritted through her teeth. "Negotiate. Because if this is the day for backstories, I can tell you mine, too. You asked me once what Thomas did to me. I'll tell you; he made me forget who I was."

"I wasn't always like this. I tried—so hard, to be a _good_ girl. Mother's sweetie, the little ballerina, the little cute girl that had her cheek's pinched, her hair caressed. I always tried to make people love me. But every person has a basement, and in that basement there are other things, twirling, just below the surface, like the great grease over dark waters. I ignored them as I ignored Melina herself. Then one day he came—and he didn't even do anything particularly different, nor special but soon I was walking down a dark tunnel with no end at sight, and with each step my past was falling into the abyss in my wake. When the tunnel ended at a cliff, I turned back and all the path—all of my life lay in front of me, all things I lost—things that would never be mine again and do you know what I noticed at that moment, Valerie?

"All the things I'd lost were worthless," she spat, as her words and memories lined her face. "All my struggles to be _better_ didn't mean anything. I'd spent fourteen years on meaningless hopes, trying to make better the things that never were worth my time." She drew closer. "You see Thomas really did something very good to me, he set me free. And I won't go back into my cage again."

Selina gave her a heavy look. "You choose who you want to be every day, Valerie? Guess what? I choose who I want to be every day, too. And I'm not going to stop just because a woman who is dangerously in love asks me to."

Valerie held her arm tightly, and whispered as heatedly as Selina. "If you don't stop what you're doing, the bars that you're afraid of are going to be real. What are you planning? Doing insurance fraud the rest of your life? Someone is going to notice soon. The insurance investigators are already looking for it. The police will get it sooner or later, too. Then you're done."

"Then make sure I'm not," Selina hissed.

"Let's assume that you are," Valerie asked back, not giving an inch. "And you ratted out Bruce too, which I _don't_ believe you would," she said challengingly, "but let's assume you did. Then what Selina?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow, "If that's your plan, then you'd better find a better defense because that stunt with the beautiful unhappy woman on the stand won't fly anymore with everything else you've done."

Selina seethed in silence but didn't retort. She had a point, and Selina knew it. She went in for the kill. "Besides a witness will appear on Vicki Vale's program in two hours and will confess to what really happened the night Dent died," she announced, as Selina's head snapped back to her. "Yeah, Bruce finally came to terms with _their _deaths. We're coming clean tonight, then the police won't be too much of a problem for _him_."

"You told me once this wasn't a riot act," Valerie pointed out after her silence. "That you're a professional. It's the time for you to prove that."

Her eyes squinted, and finally broke her silence. "What do you mean?"

She took the folder next to her left side and passed it to Selina. "I didn't come here without bearing any gifts, Selina." Selina opened the folder. "It's a fund for you at Wayne Enterprises, a fund that you can do exactly what you want with."

She lifted her eyes. "You can't buy me with money, Valerie—"

"No," Valerie nodded, "that's why I left the number blank." Surprised her head bowed again, and she eyed the document. "It's for you to decide."

"That's very—"

"Generous?" Valerie returned rolling her eyes. "Selina, we can't be friends, but it doesn't mean we have to be enemies."

Her eyes didn't leave the page, and she didn't speak, then she closed the folder. "I hold the strings?" she asked.

"No one is going to ask you any questions," Valerie confirmed, "You have my word on that."

"Okay," Selina finally agreed, letting out a sigh. "I'm gonna stop doing the other—thing." She fixed her eyes on hers, "But I'm _still_ not going away. I'll still go out," she paused, "to—look things over."

"Okay," Valerie agreed. That was the best she could hope for from Selina, she knew. Selina would chose to die or spend the rest of her life in prison rather than stopping being what she was. Much like she had, much like Bruce had, Selina had made her own choices_._

Wordless, Selina nodded at her, then started to walk away. Looking at her retreating back, Valerie understood something else too. There was always a choice, always.

She needed to talk with Ramirez.

* * *

Three almost-fender-benders, six red lights, and probably countless speeding tickets later, she was in front of Ramirez's apartment.

She knocked repeatedly until Ramirez answered looking like shit in her dark suit, her eyes more lost than ever. "You shouldn't come here—" the detective started, and she was right. She shouldn't have, but this was more important.

"I know," she said, "I'm going to deal with the security cameras." She halted for a moment. "I just needed to talk to you."

"We can't," Ramirez pointed out, "Vale is waiting for me. I'll be late."

"I said you don't have a choice," Valerie said then, "and I'm sorry. But you do have a choice. We always have a choice. I won't press you. If you want—out, I won't force you."

Ramirez took a step back, muttering with shock, "What?"

"If you want a clean slate with that man," she said, "You can have it. I won't stop you." That wasn't the woman she wanted to be. She wished she could have been like _her_, life would have been much easier, her problems would have been much more easily solved, but in the end she choose to be Valerie. And it was time for her to prove it. Her eyes flicked to the mirror inside the door, the woman that reflected there, familiar and acquainted, and the empty rooms in her dreams appeared in her mind's eye. She was Valerie now, and she was alone, no little her, no _her_, no Jason... She was alone. Alone with Bruce.

Ramirez looked at her as if she understood, then nodded. "So—it's time for me to choose what kind of woman I want to be?"

Valerie could only look at her. Ramirez stayed motionless for seconds, then reached out to take her bag from the table by the door. "Let's go," the detective said softly, with a small melancholy smile. "I don't want to be late to my meeting with destiny."

* * *

Her trembling voice cracked and she paused to clear it but her gaze remained stuck on them, eyes fixed on the camera, and Valerie felt Ramirez looking right at her through the screen. A shiver ran through her body, and she snuggled further into Bruce's side on the couch. He tightened his grip on her shoulders and pulled her closer. They all had made their choices. Ramirez started to talk again. "He threw the coin in the air, heads came up, then he knocked me out," she finished retelling the images from the security tapes.

"So you didn't exactly see what happened after that?" Vicki Vale's voice was gentle.

"No, but I didn't have to. Batman didn't kill those police officers."

Valerie turned off the TV. Bruce pushed back an inch to look at her. "Valerie, what are you—"

"We don't need to watch this any further." She shook her head. "It's finished now, Bruce. We won't see the aftermath this time." She leaned forward on him, and ran her fingertips over his hairline. "Take me to bed, baby, and make love to me. I want nothing but you in my mind now." She paused to give him a look. "I want you to have nothing but me in your mind too."

His arm circled around the back of her neck, and he pulled her closer to kiss her, softly, gently, his lips pressing on hers tenderly, and she opened her mouth, welcoming him, sighing quietly into his mouth. He moved his arms around her body, pulled her onto his lap, and lifted her up. They didn't break their contact, just moved over each other's skin to take the necessary breaks to breathe.

It took longer to climb the steps at their pace, longer to reach, longer to slide the door open as if the world was in slow motion—floating away slowly, gently, quietly; and he was her shelter, her safe haven, he was her everything, and she wanted to be his everything, in every way, in every inch, in every cell.

He crossed the room, settled in the middle of the bed with Valerie on his lap. She didn't move an inch, couldn't possibly, their lips were still stuck on each other and it was only when they sat facing each other that she pulled back.

Inches apart she looked at him, her eyes glazed with emotion—Bruce couldn't decipher one from another anymore; desire, want, need, affection, admiration, love... She raised her hands and started to unbutton his shirt. Every button popped open by her slender fingers, her motions still slow, tender, and gentle so unlike her usual animated way.

She lowered his shirt down over his arms, and leaned forward to kiss the skin she'd exposed, lips trailing over his chest, shoulders, over his scars, the scars she had always been mesmerized by. She ran her hands down over his arms, as her tongue tasted his bruised skin. His hands reached to her back to open her dress's zipper. Too much clothing was between them—he pushed the garment over her arms—they needed to be bare to each other, completely. He lifted her slightly to drop the dress down, then pulled her down again. She wound her arms around his neck as she raised her hips to help him, her lips licking the side of his neck. "Bruce, please, say my name," she pleaded.

"Valerie—Valerie—" he chanted, her name, the woman she wanted to be..."Valerie—"

"Bruce," she answered letting out a deep breath, and lifted her head to catch his eyes. "It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"

"No, not any more."

Naked, she tightened her grip. "Because we have each other now." She brushed her lips over his chest again, down to an old scar, only a faded mark from the past now, and sung softly, "One for sorrow, two for joy," she pushed him down, and leaned over him, her lips trailing all over his skin, lips and tongue making her own mystical map out of his scars as she continued counting. "Three for a boy, four for a girl, five for silver, six for gold—" She paused, lifted her eyes to him, "I don't remember what comes next—"

"Seven for a secret," he said softly, reaching for her cheek. "Never to be told, eight for a wish—"

"And I hold my breath, make a wish, and count down from infinity." She grabbed his shoulders, rolled them around, and wrapped herself around him.

He pulled back an inch, then slid into her, and asked as she moaned, "What do you wish, baby?"

She pulled him closer, deeper, and her words slurred, "Wish I could stay here forever," she confessed looking into his eyes

Looking straight back at her, it finally dawned on him. He retreated a half an inch, took the hand circled around his neck, and turned her palm up. His fingers brushed over her life line slowly, and kissing her palm he linked his fingers through hers, before gently pushing his way back in.

* * *

_Whoaa! I _finally_ came to this point, where the reference in the summary has showed up again. Yup, in Contact Valerie had a secret, and now she has a wish :)_

_Until the next time, stay well._


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